


Dear Diary

by KendraLynora



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraLynora/pseuds/KendraLynora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A diary is shared between Helena and Myka</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Book

It was an early Friday evening in Colorado Springs, there was an unusual fog drifting across the practically empty street in front of Bering and Sons. Thirteen year old Myka Bering sat in her favourite reading chair, hidden behind the classics section of her family's bookstore, which was situated next to a large window overlooking a small side street. The girl was still dressed in her Girl Scouts uniform as she huddled into her bent knees, chewing her bottom lip as she practiced reading Ammianus Marcellinusin its original Latin.

The deal was that, for as long as she continued to keep her grades above 90% in her Latin class, her parents would keep paying for them. They thought it frivolous for their daughter to waste her time and their money on learning a dead language, but the girl pulled the, you-know-I'll-work-hard-and-I'll-help-out-more-in- the-shop card, and won.

Myka's head jerked up out of her book when she heard the delivery man's van park at the side of the street right in front of the window. He got out and waved at her then pointed to the large box in his hand. The curly haired girl grinned and almost tripped over her abnormally large feet as she sprung up. She knew that her dad had ordered some really old books from London. He paid a pretty penny for them too, but their store prided itself in rare finds. Her dad had always said that there is no better investment than an original print copy of a great piece of literature.

Myka scurried to the front door, whizzing past her mom who was checking someone out at the till. The girl then opened the door for the delivery man as he entered.

"Hey-a kiddo," The man in his late forties smiled towards her.

"Hey Brad!" She beamed. "I see you've got my books."

"Your books?" Her dad's voice cut through her sunny disposition like a knife. "Last time I checked, this was my money paying for these," He approached them and took the box from Brad.

It's not that Warren Bering had intentionally ruined Myka's blissful state, he was just a man that spoke short and to the point, making others feel unnoticed by him and sometimes trampled on a bit. "Thanks," Her dad nodded to their delivery man, where Brad gave a quick polite smirk in return before leaving.

Through the glass of the front door, Brad gave Myka a quick wink, knowing that she was about to have the time of her life while looking through their new merchandise.

After the girl beamed and waved him farewell she made her way over to her mother who had just finished up with the customer at the till. Without a word Myka yanked at her mom's arm, knowing that she would understand what she wanted.

Jeannie looked to her daughter and nodded before looking to her husband, "Warren sweetie, maybe Myka can give you a hand with those?"

"Jeannie, these aren't just everyday stock books, these are rare finds."

"Yes, and who else is as careful and meticulous as your Myka?"

He looked to his wife and sighed before muttering, "Fine," just to hinder an argument from initiating.

Myka's grin flashed brighter in an instant before she quickly hugged her mom and made her way over to her dad, box still in hand, as he wandered over to the back of the store. There sat a large oak table that was half empty and half littered with books; some to be put away, some were just displayed only, and others were 'arrived damaged' that needed to be sent back.

Her dad put the box down on the cleared off part of the table before he pulled out the x-acto knife, that he had always carried in his back pocket, and sliced the packing tape, that fastened the box shut. Myka was a tall teen but was still forced to step on her tippy-tows to see inside the box, from just beside her dad. He flipped open the flaps as Myka gawked at all the beautiful leather and fabric bound books inside.

"Are these really, all from London," the girl asked in awe, before she grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the table, and put them on.

"No, some of them come from an old country estate just outside of the city, as well. They were miscellaneous books that I got cheap."

"Hoping to find a diamond in the rough?" She smiled, but got a complete lack of response from her dad. She was quick to downcast her eyes and bite her lip in slight awkwardness, as he put on his own gloves.

"Okay, you can start by pulling out the books and gently placing them on the table." He instructed her as he pulled out the first book and started to examine it, checking its condition. "Don't stack them, I want them lain out so that I can see them best."

Myka knew the procedure all too well, but bit her tongue and just did as told. The first book she pulled out she had to bite her lip hard to hinder a screech as she looked upon a first edition Journey to the Centre of the Earth. She turned the green, slightly beaten, book over before grazing her hands over the golden text on the cover. She then put it down on the table carefully before she reached in for another. This time she pulled out a thin folder and opened it to find the folio of Titus Andronicus. Myka's arms actually shook as she gazed upon the bard's beautiful text, before it was taken out of her grasp by her dad.

"There you are! What a beauty!" he muttered towards the Shakespearean folio before turning the pages over gently and touching his hand to the words. "If I could only see pretty things like you on a daily bases, my world would be complete," he hushed lovingly to his new pride and joy.

Myka looked away from the sight of her dad caressing yet another object that he fancied more than her. Her gaze fell back into the box as she saw a slightly smaller box inside. She pulled it out and placed it on the table. "Hey Dad," Myka asked, "What's in here?"

Her dad seemed annoyed that she was forcing him to look away from his new prized possession as he answered, "Those are the books from that old estate I was talking about." He pulled his knife out of his pocket and handed it over to her without a word before going back to what was in his hands.

Myka took the blade and opened the box with ease. There were six little pocket books inside, according to the inventory list that lay on top. The first one she pulled out was some sort of child's fairy tale book. It didn't look like it had much value to it though. The second one was a book on early aviation. The girl gave it a once over before placing it on the table.

Then she pulled out a hardcover leather bound book. It had a Victorian floral print texturized into the dark brown leather, but there was no title on it. Curiously; the brunette opened the book and skimmed the first page. Tears started to well up in her eyes, taking her off guard, as she read. The teen then looked to her dad who was still in his own little world with his literature. Myka chewed her bottom lip as she began contemplating something that she would have never have thought of doing until now. She was too responsible to do it. She could never betray her dad by going through with it, but for some reason, the power of the words in that book made her go against every good-girl fibre in her body as she shoved the text under her scouts shirt. She then quickly spurted out to her dad, "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Yeah, yeah, go," he waved her off without looking up like he didn't have the slightest care.

Myka whipped off her gloves and threw them on the table before bouncing off and up the stairs to their second floor apartment. She breezed past their common room and went down the hall to close herself away in her bedroom which was across from her sister's room. Tracy's room was almost always empty for that she was currently at boarding school. Myka's sister was strange in that matter, she begged their parents to let her go to school a few counties over. She said that she wanted a full educational experience, but Myka knew that she just wanted to hang around with her Chic Cliquefriend Katie, whose parents sent her to the school because they moved too much due to her father's military career. Tracy was only ten, but one could swear that she loved her friends more than she loved her family, which was saying a lot for the daddy's girl that she was.

Myka planted herself on her bed as she listened for a few seconds to make sure that no one was around. She knew that both her parents were downstairs, but that didn't stop her from being overly cautious, especially when her heart was beating so profusely. She just stole a book from her dad. She didn't know if it held any value or not, she may have been able to just simply ask him for it. But she didn't want to take the chance of him saying no.

Once her heart slowed down a bit and she was convinced that she was alone up in their apartment, she took the small brown book from underneath her shirt and ran her fingers over the cover lovingly before opening it to the first page, once again.

September 21, 1878

Dear Diary… no, that sounds rather ridiculous. I don't wish to write to a book, I'd rather speak to a friend, a best friend; I'd rather speak to you. Yes, you, the one who has found my diary. I love you. I would have to love the person who I am about to disclosed my life and all its secrets to. So let us try this again.

Dear my darling best friend,

Today is my twelfth birthday, and my favourite aunt just gave me our book. Yes, this book, yours and mine. I am about to tell you everything My Darling in this journal, and I can only hope and pray that you will respond back to me. I'll leave the back of every page blank, just for you to write in. For that you are the most important person in the world to me. We are forever tethered together, I can just sense this.

But for now I must say farewell to you, and that I can't wait to talk to you again Darling.

-Valedico my Love

Myka shut their diary and held it close to her heart. She smiled as she wiped away a tear before muttering to her one and only friend, "I love you too."


	2. Pen

Dear my Darling, it's been nearly a week since the celebrations of my birthday have transpired. I think I used that word properly 'Transpired'. Become known, Emerged, Be released, Come to light. Can a party come to light? That seems peculiar. Maybe I should use complete. Does that sound better? Since my party has been competed? Done? Through? Ah, words can be so tricky sometimes, but I suppose they would have to be. They are the most accurate way one can clearly communicate what they feel inside. Aunty Prudence, well I call her Aunt Prue, She's our favourite aunt that I mentioned earlier who gave us this diary, anyhow, she always pokes fun at me because whenever I am sent to my room, which seems to be quite a lot lately, I would preoccupy myself by reading the dictionary. Now Darling, you mustn't laugh, it's just that there are so many fabulous words out there and so many of them are hardly used. I want to use them all!

Speaking of being sent to my room, that's where I am now. My Mum sent me here, and it was hardly even my fault that I made my silly beaver toothed cousin, Samantha, bleed. (I saw a picture of a beaver in my dictionary and couldn't help but laugh at it, for that it looked like her) See, it all began with the three of us at the swamp. Samantha, my brother Charles, and I. We went there to catch frogs. Charles likes to keep them as pets, but I like to dissect them, cut them open, and try to figure out how they jump so high. We are always forced to "include" Samantha in our activities. Her mum, is soooo annoying, and calls me a brat all the time. Aunt Prue tells me that she is jealous of the brilliant and beautiful. Once I threatened to cut off all my hair if it'd get grumpy Aunt Marsha off my back, but Aunt Prue flipped her biscuits and said that I should grow it to double its length then toss it in her face. My Aunty is so funny; but now it's just past my armpits and growing more and more each day; obviously.

Now, what was I talking about again? Oh, yes, the swamp. Charles caught three frogs where I was a little less successful, so I pinched on of his when his back was turned. I then walked back to the house; with Samantha dragging her heals behind me after making some remark about not stealing. When we got back to my summer house I shoved the frog into Samantha's hands and told her to wait out back while I ran inside to get some sharp cutlery. But when I came back with a knife and spoon to scoop out the insides, my cousin, Lard-Fingers, said that the frog slipped out of her grasp. I don't know if she let him go intentionally or not, but I didn't care. If I couldn't dissect the frog; I was going to dissect her! So I told her that we were going to play doctor and she was the patient. That sounds fair, right? Well, maybe not completely fair, but the world isn't built on justice, if it were; I would be able to wear my brother's trousers to afternoon tea.

So Samantha and I went up to my room, I got her to disrobe, as is customary at the doctor's, and lay on my bed for her examination. I wanted to stick her like I had intended to stick my frog. I took the spoon as my tool; I didn't want to frighten her straight away with the knife. See I can show restraint and compassion contrary to my family's opinions. Her flush face with nervous wide honey eyes is still fresh in my memory, as if an artist had painted the image on my very eyeballs; while I dragged the spoon down her torso. Starting at her neck I moved the rounded end of the utensil between her, just maturing, breasts. They were very slight things, barely a bump with her lying on her back, but I still felt a little envious of them. I wanted to touch them…no, I wanted to bite them. God only know why, but I did. Instead of taking a chomp at them, I brought the spoon up to one of her small pink nips, and flicked it with the edge of my examination instrument. She screeched out, where I told her to shut her beaver mouth. She then bit her lip and let me continue with my medical examination.

I scraped down to her bellybutton, or navel, as we doctors like to call it, and then wiggled the spoon inside it as best I could. She cried out a bit to that, but kept her lip clamped between her buck teeth. Tears fell down her cheeks as she watched me take the object out of her body's crevice. She watched me with sheer fear in her eyes, it was rather invigorating. I then slowly brought the spoon down to her "private parts" or as I recently read in my brother's anatomy textbook, her genitalia. She clamped her knees shut while her tears turned into a sob; I ignored her, however, and smacked my instrument hard onto her kneecap, making her scream out. I did it again then told her to be silent and open her legs. She obeyed and slowly dropped her knees to either side of the mattress. There I saw it for the first time; I saw what I look like down there. In a floor length mirror one can never quite see it all. But with her legs spread wide, I could make out things that I never knew existed. For starters, she had odd light blonde hairs poking out ever which direction. It surrounded this fold, a fold that I just had to separate to look what was between it. So I took my knife, which Samantha did not see due to her eyes being shut as she sobbed and shook, and gently used it to pin back one fold as I used the spoon, for the other one. I think Samantha may have screamed out again at that point, I don't remember, but what I do recall is her hollering at the top of her lungs as I curiously plunged the soon into her opening. It was remarkable; it just plunged right in, half the handle fit in too. I had no idea we had a hole like that down there. But before I could examine it in greater detail, the little brat grabbed a hold of the handle and yanked it out. I had never heard anyone scream so laud when she saw the blood coating the spoon.

To be honest Darling, I was scared too, I thought that I had really cut into her guts and torn her insides out. It wasn't till after she had pulled her dress back on and ran out to her horror of a mother, that my mum explained to me that she would be all right. Though, of course, I was scolded and promised the strap from my father when he got back home; which should be any moment now. I suppose the strap is intended to teach me some sort of lesson like, not to violate people, or learn. The humorous thing is; I'd do it again. I don't see why I must be punished for merely trying to educate myself. Do you get punished too Darling for educating yourself? I hope that you are in the far future where people can simply learn without consequence. I think the future will be like that, maybe in twenty years or so. My brother seems to do it without repercussions, so why can't I? Though, Charles would never go to the lengths that I do to gain a greater understanding of the world. He is a waste of a boy, I wish that I were him and he were me. Then I could do whatever I wanted.

Oh, I believe that I hear my father coming up the stairs now. I suppose I'd better bite the leather and take it like a boy. I'll talk to you later. Wish me luck.

I love you always.

Myka looked up from their book in confusion. She didn't quite know what to think about her friend's entry. She, herself, had taken sex education in school and knew of the opening on the female anatomy that she was referring to. It's how the male's genitalia enters and impregnates a woman who has reached puberty. But she had no idea that a spoon and half its handle could fit inside of it. Now thinking on it, Myka was disappointed in herself for being surprised on the fact. She listened to everything that her junior high teacher had taught the class, but never once did she associate it to her own body. It was always just a diagram in her head.

Instead of the bookshop girl picking up her pen to write a response, she tucked the diary under her mattress then wandered out of her room. She could hear her mom in the kitchen and she assumed her dad was in the store below. Very quietly, Myka skulked down the hallway and into her parent's bedroom. Quietly she slipped her mother's pantyhose drawer open and slid out a mirror that used to belong to her great-grandmother. It was a beautiful silver object with a lovely swirl designed handle. Her mom had always used it to see the back of her own head while doing her hair. Myka held the mirror down beside her thigh and scurried to the washroom and made the door fast behind her.

She felt ridiculous, embarrassed and downright scandalous for what she was about to do. The gangly brunette put the mirror down on the vanity while she slowly un-zipped her jeans and pulled them down to her ankles, followed by her panties. She picked up the mirror before chewing her bottom lip. Was she really about to do this? She wanted to see. She had never cared before, but now she really wanted to see what was down there. Not some black and white drawn diagram, but the actual flesh of it. She took in a breath and held it while she moved the looking-glass between her legs. After a moment of staring, she realized that she was still holding her breath so she exhaled. It looked so much different then she thought it would be. She didn't really know how she thought it would be, but what she saw was not it. Maybe her body was wrong, maybe it was deformed. She remembered the folds that were mentioned by her friend, and thought that she may have had them too. She reached down with her free hand and slowly poked a flap and pinned it back with her index finger. She couldn't help but smile, she was pretty sure that she was atomically correct now. She then moved her middle finger to pin back the other flap. Stretching it open to as far as she could, she could see the hole; the one where the spoon could fit in. She wanted to see if she could fit something into it too. She scanned the bathroom and saw her toothbrush.

"No!" She whispered out to herself, "I can't do that."

"Myka!" a knock came on the door which almost made the girl drop the mirror.

She panicked and shoved the mirror in the shower and tugged up her pants while answering, "Yeah?"

"Are you almost done in there?" her mom asked, "your father wants to ask you something regarding that book order from the other day."

"Shoot," The girl muttered under her breath.

She quickly flushed the toilet and ran the faucet, making it sound like she was actually using the facilities, as to not raise suspicion

Leaving the mirror behind, she unlocked the door and opened it to find herself in front of her mom.

"Hey, you okay sweetie?" Her mom asked, "You look a little flushed."

"No, I mean, yeah, I'm fine, mom."

"Okay. Well Dad's in the living-room."

Myka nodded her mess of curls before gulping. Then she slowly made her way down the hall to him. Warren was focused over a paper that she knew to be an order list. The girl looked down to her bare toes.

"Ah, Myka," The man gazed up at her, "we're missing a book from this list. Did you remember seeing it?" Myka kept her eyes downcast, hiding behind her hair. "Myka!" he snapped at her lack of acknowledgment.

The girl lifted her head, "No! What? What book?"

He looked at her peculiarly before elaborating, "That small miscellaneous box, there is a book missing. You unpacked that one. There is a child's diary missing from it."

"Oh," Myka's huge green eyes grew larger than an owl's, "well ah, I didn't see anything like that there," she shook her head.

"Are you sure, Myka? 'Cause I'm about to make a very expensive call to London here."

She held her breath and starred at the wall just past her dad's head, "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay," he said while eyeing her.

Myka just remained standing there, not knowing if she were allowed to move. It wasn't until her dad picked up the receiver from the phone that she spoke up again, "is it worth anything?"

"Hu?" he turned to look at her again.

"The book. Is it worth a lot?" she shot out quickly.

He raised his eyebrow, "Well, I'm not sure, Myka, it's not like it's here for me to value now, is it?" and said shortly.

The girl backed out of the room silently and scurried back to her bedroom. Not caring that her parents were both upstairs at this point, she ripped out the diary and her pen. Flipping to the back of her friend's first page she began to write.

April 11, 1991

Dear, my best friend from the past.

You are right! One should not be punished for trying to learn. I think I'd die if I couldn't crack open any book that I liked, and discover the answers to the world inside of it. And I mean ANY book. This book for example. Our book. If a book is mine… well both of ours, then I am entitled to read it, write in it, own it, right? Well Ha! I am writing in it! My Dad can never have it back! It's marked and ours forever, I am yours and you are mine, across time.

Love and Valedico to you my partner in discovery,

Your loyal friend forever


	3. Grey

Myka treaded into the girls' change room after her extracurricular fencing class. She was still panting lightly from her last few matches that she, of course, won. The girl was the top fencer on their school team and was working to become state champion. Despite her being the best on the team, she was not the team captain. The coach offered her the position, but she was too intimidated by it, and turned it down. She couldn't understand how she could possibly lead a team if she had barely had a single conversation with any of her other teammates.

Myka made her way straight to the bathroom stall that she had always used as a private changing area. She had never felt comfortable changing in front of the others. But when she arrived there, it was already occupied. Normally she would have merely taken her time removing her shoes whilst waiting, but on this day she thought on her Victorian friend.

To be honest, she had not thought on her, friend from the past, for nearly a week. That day when Myka claimed their diary, by marking it with a pen, was all rather strange to her. She had emotions and thoughts that she could not quite pin-point. Her friend had told her some pretty disturbing things that day, and Myka had reacted fairly oddly to them herself. She still couldn't understand why she took her grandmother's mirror and then deceived and stole from her dad. That wasn't her at all. And she did all of it because of a girl whom she had not met nor ever will. A girl who had molested her cousin, just so that she could better understand the human anatomy. But for some illogical reason, despite knowing all of this, Myka thought on her friend in that moment and walked to the bench beside one of her teammates, and undressed right there, in the large room where everyone else was changing, in some strange attempts of proving herself worthy to her diary mate.

She changed quickly with not a single person noticing her un-characteristic presence there with them. But to that thirteen-year-old girl, she felt as if she had finally accepted her gangly awkward female body enough to say, 'screw you,' to all that opposed it. Ironically the only person who didn't approve of it was herself, until that point. It's not that she now thought herself beautiful, she just simply felt somewhat comfortable in her own skin, for the first time.

Later on her walk home, she couldn't shake the proud smirk off her face, and it had nothing to do with her superb swordsmanship that day. When she reached their bookshop and entered it, she quickly moved past her mother. "Hi Mom. Bye Mom," she waved.

"Hey Sweetie, how was practice?" her mom looked up from the books that she was stocking the shelves with.

"Same as always," Myka said over her shoulder while she disappeared into the back of the store on her way upstairs. "I got lots of homework; gonna go do it now!"

Myka went into her room and threw her backpack onto her bed before she began to dig out her homework. But instead of looking to the contents that she was removing, she was staring blankly towards the end of her mattress where she kept their diary. Guilt was beginning to eat her up for taking the book from her dad who had already made two angry calls to London. Myka assumed that he gave up on the hunt for it now. But now the teen feared that she took it all for the sake of reading a crazy twelve-year-old's disturbing confessions. But then again, after reading just one of her little entries, Myka had never thought so hard on her own femininity and the social norms of the world itself. That Victorian girl got her to undress in front of people, by skewing Myka's perception on how she saw herself and the world around her. With that thought in mind she abandoned her school work and reached for the journal. She bit her lip and ran her hand down its cover in both excitement and fear. She then took a breath and cracked it open then began to read.

September 28, 1878

Darling, I'm a little frightened right now. After Father gave me the strap yesterday I have been thinking on my earlier actions, despite the fact that I had claimed that I regretted nothing. But the thing is; I do regret it! And what I regret most is the entry that I had just written in the heat of it all, to you. I fear that you think me sick in the head. I've been allowing the idea of scratching the entry out, roll about in my mind, but I simply cannot do it. My actions yesterday are a part of me, a part of me that I am rather disgusted by, truthfully. But never the less, I must learn to surpass the darkness that I have inside of me, and never let it get a hold of me like that again. I can't hide from it, so if I can't hide from it myself, I certainly can't hide it from you, Darling. I pray that it does not drive you away from me, I feel as if I'd be lost forever without you. So this is my formal apology for not being a decent human being like you. It's sort of funny actually, but I know, with all my heart, that you are the most decent person to ever live. Like you are my angel, here to guide me to do the right thing; keep me out of trouble. It really doesn't make much sense since you are there, to be, and I am then, in the past. But I know you understand the concept, you would have to because I only choose the brightest and most imaginative as my best friend.

Your, born guilty, friend; hoping that your heart of gold is equally a heart of forgiveness

I love you, Darling, more than you could ever fathom

Myka burst out into laughter with tears in her eyes. Her friend had spoken pure perfection to her. She felt relieved, flattered, and downright ridiculous for holding off so long in reading their diary.

Myka grabbed a pen out from her backpack and began to write.

April 17, 1991

Dear my Best friend from the past, my ALWAYS best friend. I also have a confession, I was a little scared too when reading your last entry, but then again, you sparked all this… stuff, in my head. Yeah, that really is not that descriptive there, I realize. But I'm all of a sudden more aware of things around me and, at the same time, not as self-conscious. And did I mention, I STOLE and WROTE in this book? You made me do it too! Wow, that is normally something that I would say as being negative, but I'm not saying it negatively this time. Somehow you make the socially normal negative things, into like a grey circumstantial situation. It's very confusing but for some reason I'm drawn to it.

I promise to guide your mischievous streak, that takes you too far sometimes, if you agree to teach me to see more of this, not so, black and white world.

Together we can do anything

Love you forever


	4. Blade

Gangly Myka was sitting in her favourite chair adjacent to the large window in their shop; bent knees past her ears and body hunched over so far that her nose was almost smeared into the pages of her book that rested on her large feet. She blew away an unruly curl, that had fallen out of her messy bun, in a rather un-lady like manner.

"You know if you wore your glasses, I wouldn't have to worry about you smudging the ink in our books with your nose," Myka's mom smiled as she wheeled a cart of books past her, "It's hard to explain to customers why the text in all our books are blurry." The middle-aged woman smiled at her daughter.

"Mooom," The girl almost whined as she awkwardly cranked her neck to the side to look at her, "I look like a weird-o with those on."

"Yeah, and you look perfectly normal now, perched like a monkey?" She teased.

"I'm not a monkey," The girl huffed, "and I can see just fine, I was just getting pulled into the book, is all."

Jeannie smiled whilst trying not to roll her eyes. Myka was always pulled into books. "So what are you reading today?" The woman asked.

"The Undying fire," Myka said; her eyes back into her book.

"Undying Fire," Jeannie repeated as if she were trying to recollect it. "Who writes that again?"

"HG Wells," The brunette answered straightaway, not pealing her attention away from the book.

"Again?"

"Hu?" Myka looked to her, "What's again?"

"Didn't you just read The Time Machine last week?"

"Yeah, I've been in this weird HG Wells mood lately, I don't know why but this book is…." She looked back to it before muttering, "Wow."

"Yeah?" her mom asked in intrigue, "What's it about?"

"It's…. like, hmm, it's hard to explain. Like Man's journey to see what he can make of himself. Looking at the book of Job and God and Satan and humanity. And I think that Wells's concepts and outlook can really help my friend. She's dealing with… " The girl cocked her head to the side with wide eyes, "stuff."

Jeannie lit up, "Friend?"

"Huh?" Myka's head whipped back to her mother.

"You have a friend?" The woman almost squealed out in excitement, "Is she from school? Your fencing team maybe?"

Myka's eyes grew so big that the whites were bigger than her emerald irises that were surrounded by them. "…wha— Fencing?" she swallowed hard, "Yeah, fencing." The girl then blankly nodded before forcing a fake smile when she realized her, almost, deadpanned expression.

"Yeah?" her mom beamed in learning that her, socially-awkward, daughter had a new friend. "What's her name?"

"Oh," Myka blinked. She never really noticed that she didn't even know her friend's name. It had never really mattered to her before, it was almost as if names, flesh, age, and time itself, was irrelevant when she conversed with her diary mate. But her mother wasn't looking for her Victorian friend-from-the-past's name; she was looking for her new fencing-friend-from-school's name. "Becky," Myka spurted out. She was the first person she could think of on her team. She was a blonde girl that tagged along with the 'it girls' just because her best friend from nursery school was Tina, the most popular girl in their jr. high. "Yeah, Becky," Myka nodded her head nonchalantly, "I've just been talking to her in the change room, is all. No big deal."

"Well you can always invite her over here and—"

"Mom," the girl interrupted her, "I said it was no big deal. Can I please just get back to reading here?" She asked abruptly and slightly annoyed.

"Hey!" Warren came out from behind a nearby bookshelf with a stern expression and pointed finger towards her, "You watch your tone towards your mother, young lady."

Jeanne turned to him and began in a soft voice, "Oh sweetie, she didn't mean to be short, she's just caught up in her book, and not wanting her prying mother bugging her about—"

"No, Jeanne!" he interrupted her forcefully, "don't make excuses for her lack of respect." The woman took in a breath and shut her mouth, knowing better than to interfere with her husband when he was in a state like he currently was.

The man looked back to his daughter, "just because you made a friend at school doesn't mean you have the right to speak to your mother like that." Myka bit her lip and held her book close to her, in some sort of dwindling comfort. "Now, you apologize, right now."

The girl took a short breath and turned to the woman who was giving her a sympathetic look, "Sorry, Mom."

"It's okay, honey," She said in a small voice.

"Now go up to your room. You can come out when we're ready for dinner," he ordered. The girl then slowly dragged herself out of her chair and hung her head down whilst making her way past them. "Ah, Where do store books stay?" he gestured to the HG Wells in her grasp. Wordlessly Myka turned around and walked to the Classics Fiction Section and inserted the book into its propped resting place before heading off towards the apartment stairs.

Once she climbed to the second floor she turned the opposite way of her room, towards the kitchen. There she walked straight to the cutlery drawer and opened it, pulling out a black handled paring knife. It was the knife she always took, there were three the same, but hers had a nick at the base of the blade.

Expressionless; she walked into the washroom, but she made certain to keep the door ajar. She always kept it slightly open when running through her routine. Normally she was paranoid in the bathroom and always kept the door fast, but not then. She had no worry then; her mind had a thick haze over it, usually triggered by her father.

She placed the knife on the vanity before undoing her jeans and pealing them off. She took the pair of pants and neatly folded them then placed them on the toilet seat after closing its lid, per usual. The girl then opened the cabinet behind the mirror and pulled out the hydrogen peroxide along with a box of fabric tan bandages, placing them on the floor beside the bath mat. She then slid the shower door open and took a hold of her knife before stepping into the water closet, in her t-shirt and panties, and then sat down on the edge of the tub.

She hadn't done this in months, she actually thought that she was done with it for good, but looking at herself now, she could only muster up a small sigh on her own behalf before she spread her legs to see the faint scares on her inner thighs. She had never bothered to count them; they were not a badge of honour nor a cry for help. She just felt as if her body was filled with poison, little-by-little day-by-day until the buildup was too intense to handle, there for; needed to be drained.

She always made the cuts small, and they faded so very quickly on her body. One could only see them if they looked hard, and she could easily pass them off as stretchmarks; not that she had ever had to. She took in a deep breath straight before she slit her flesh, midway on her inner thigh.

She stared at the cut, always enjoying the moment when there was a nice white incision followed by the crimson colouring around the skin, then finally the first gush of blood. She closed her eyes in custom and simply breathed as her life fluid leak from her body. But after mere moments, where she had usually felt the unburdening process commence, she felt an intense anxiety in its place. There was no gentle fog lifting experience like the times before; instead it felt as if the veil was forcefully ripped off from her eyes. She felt foolish and immature. The knife that she still held in her hand was the equivalent to her dear friend's curious spoon, but worse. They were both tools of destruction. How was she supposed to be the rational one when she was doing things like this? She couldn't protect her friend if she couldn't get a grip of her own insecurities and weaknesses.

Myka then felt a hot tear run down her face. It was a strange feeling, she had never cried before during her cutting rituals. The young teenager didn't feel strong enough to put down the knife and wipe her tear away. She couldn't move her hands. One felt as if it were glued to the blade, and the other; to the edge of the tub. She stared at the blood that had now streamed down her leg and dripped into the empty bath. She wanted to bandage her cut, but she was frozen in place. Her head was clear but her body was weighed down by her father's constant disapproval and her invisibility towards the world.

The girl sat there, looking past the red liquid dripping don her leg, now focusing on her tows. She stared at them for several minutes before her body jumped in startle towards a loud clang. She turned to see that the knife had slipped out of her weakened grip and hit the bottom of the tub. The incident had managed to budge Myka out of her stoop as she slowly stood up in the shower.

Normally the girl would have taken three bandages and placed them perfectly perpendicular across her incision, slightly overlapping each other, after disinfecting the wound; followed by, partially, filling the tub to wash off her legs. She would then drain the water to rid the blood away before putting her pants back on and depositing the medical supplies and knife in their proper places. But she didn't stick to her routine that day, Instead she grabbed some toilet paper and wrapped it around her thigh; covering her wound. She then turned the tap on quickly to wash off the blood that had just reached her feet, but didn't bother with the rest on her leg. Myka then stepped out of the tube, water and blood still dripping, and hastily shoved the bandages and peroxide back into the cupboard before scooping up her jeans and the wet knife from the bottom of the tub. She then scampered out the door and into her bedroom, shutting herself in as quickly as the streaming toilet paper end from her leg, had flapped in behind her.

The girl looked to her feet, lucky to see that the stream of blood that had been running down her leg had only just then reached her foot and dripped onto the hardwood floor beneath her. She carelessly dropped her jeans and the knife on the ground and threw herself on her bed, having no care towards the the blood that she would transfer over onto her sheets. The brunette face planted into her pillow and remained there for a few moments. Soon after, her hand wandered to grab the diary underneath the mattress. When the girl took a hold of the book she turned her body onto her back so that she could look at it.

She gazed at the brown leather cover whilst whimpering in a plea, "Help," to her dear friend, before opening the book to her marked page, while her body continued to bleed.

October 1, 1878

Darling, it's about three o'clock in the morning and I am so very startled right now. I had the most horrific dream that I cannot dismiss from my head.

I was in this shadowed bedroom that would send shivers up, even, a murderer's spine. There in the centre of the room was a bed adorned with muted white sheets, and on the bed sat a girl about my age, legs crossed, with a white gown to match the bedding. Her face was pale as a corpse's and he body was lanky and fragile looking, despite the fact that she had muscular definition. It was as if she was a powerful tiger who was imprisoned in a cage. She stared blankly into the distance, not taking heed to my presence. Then the most appalling thing occurred, the stoic girl reached up and grasped a fistful of her hair, and yanked it out of her scalp. Her blank facial expression never changed as she brutally mutilated herself. I remember her hair so vividly; they were the most beautiful locks that I have ever seen in my life… long, golden brown curls of perfection that bounced into perfect ringlets with every forceful tug from her strong, but symbolically shackled, hands.

Myka, still sprawled out on her back in bed, gasped so big that she almost coughed, before she began to cry whilst she continuing on reading.

I called to her! I called to her for so long, but she never looked to me. Only after she had pulled out more than half her hair, which lay in a bloodied pile on the bed, did she blink and look to me. When our eyes locked she tried to speak, but nothing came out. Her olive green irises burned into my own, as she silently beseeched me to help her.

I tried to eliminate the gap between us, but I made no ground although my legs moved beneath me. The girl started to shed tears that mixed with the blood that dripped from her scalp, whilst she stretched out her hands for mine, but I couldn't reach her. Then a dark shadowed creature, maybe a man, skulked up from behind the girl and placed its hand on her shuddering shoulder, from the side of her bed. She had seer terror written on her face as the thing patted her gently on her, half bald and bloodied, head. The girl then brought her arms back into herself from previously trying to grasp for me, then gathered up all her beautiful locks from the bed and handed them over to the shadow. The dark creature took what was presented to it before it walked away, but the girl had her eyes locked on the figure, almost with a longing in her expression, as her body began to crumble away. Like a log in the fire when you poke it with a stick.

Finally I found my freedom and could make ground, I made hast towards her; lunging onto her bed in a desperate attempts of holding her together before she completely dissipated into ash. But I was too late! I landed into a pile of dust with only her remainder angelic ringlets left lying on the, now white as snow, bed sheets.

Was that dream not terrifying? I woke up in a…

But Myka could no longer read the words in their book in that moment; instead she slammed the diary shut and hurled it across the room in a thunderous growl before she collapsed back into her pillow and continued her weeping. She was truly disgusted with herself, and knew that she needed to change, she needed to stop being so afraid and most importantly, she needed to find her inner strength.


	5. Blood

October 16, 1878

Sorry it's been a while since my last entry, though, I suppose I'm apologising more to myself than to you, Darling, for that it's me who has missed you dearly, and you may have only just read my last entry a moment ago, I don't know. It actually sadness my heart that I will never know if you had just read my last entry just then, or if you are savoring them and reading the entries at your own leisure. I also don't know what you are writing in response, or perhaps, they are not responses at all. Maybe you're writing out unrelated things that you wish to tell me, or are versing out your joys and pains in poetry. This, I will never know which sends a sharp pain into the depths of my belly and it makes my heart feel heavy as stone.

My mother has always said that I act as if I am entitled and hold a very selfish heart. Which is like coffee calling tonic, bitter; though, she is definitely the tonic in this scenario. Despite my typical ways, I am utterly perturbed inside at the fact that you are reading my messages but I cannot return the sentiment in knowing your own writings. I recognise that deep down I know your soul, which will always be enough for me because your soul is that truly magnificent, but I sometime find myself yearning to know the specifics of your life. How old you are? If you like to ride horses like I do? What colour your hair is, though I'm fairly certain it's a perfect shade of brown. Don't take offence if it is not that colour, but I just cannot picture anything else. Maybe it's because you are both my fantasy and reality, so I see your physical as I see your spirit; the most attractive entity in existence.

Well, I could sit here for the entirety of the evening writing pages amongst pages of all my regrets in not knowing every little detail about you, as well as sing your praises, but I do want to tell you about my day. Part of the reason I have not written in a while is because of my cousins' wedding, here at the family summer estate. The ceremony was today, but our house is still frolicking with guests. My oldest cousin Marcy married our second cousin Phil, so the place is filled with my relatives and one close family friend that traveled from afar for the celebrations. Remember my cousin Samantha? Well she actually shared my room with me for the weekend. Her family left earlier tonight; her father, my uncle, has business in the wee morning at the London Press. Oh, Darling, you would be so proud of me though; I thought on my behaviour the last time I was with Samantha, and of my promise that I made to you in trying to be a more decent human being, so I treated my cousin with respect. Then the most peculiar thing happened, she finally began to speak. She used to not talk at all unless it was to point out my wrong doings in some ghastly mumble under her breath. But she actually spoke and I responded; we conversed! I then discovered that she is trying to persuade her dad into purchasing this stallion thoroughbred. He's a colt of a champion racehorse. Meaning; this yearling could eventually race down at the tracks. After learning this, it's now both our mission, Samantha and I, to get that horse, because she promised me that I could watch his training and accompany their family to his races whenever I fancied it. I really do wish to help turn that horse from green, to winner circle gold! My name will be in the papers, 'the first woman trainer to ever have a derby champion horse.'

Ah, now I sound ridiculous. If my name were to ever be in print, it would be under my initials or something of that nature, so that I would be assumed male. I really do wish that I were a boy, I would make a fine one at that. Romance the ladies, attend University and study law or something highly intellectual like that, wear trousers, cuss… actually, I take that back. I take it all back! I like being a girl; we're smarter, prettier, and live longer. I want to be me and be everything that woman are, as well as do everything that a man can do! Why should my sex dictate what I can do, and why should I have to become a man in order to achieve what men have? That's just fallacious. Darling, from this moment on, I swear both to you and I that I will go down in history for an achievement that would be considered only within a man's reach.

Ah, and now I am rambling and have nearly writing five pages here and not even begun on telling you about the wedding. Well, it was an outdoor event…

Myka slammed the book shut in frustration and dropped her heavy arms; book still in hand, on her mattress where she sat upon, back leaning against the wall. It had been just a day since her cutting incident. She had snuck her bedding in the wash the night before and successfully concealed her blood trail.

The girl gazed off into the distance, vision on nothing in particular, as she took in a deep breath to hinder herself from crying. She was hoping that she would have read something in there from her friend, telling her that she would be okay. That she could prevail because she is stronger than she thinks. But there was nothing to that degree. Myka felt left down. She felt left down by her family, by her diary friend, and by herself.

The girl snorted a cynical laugh when thinking on how stupid she had been, for thinking that a girl from a hundred years in the past, was somehow going to save her and tell her that everything was going to be alright. What was she expecting anyway? For her friend to have another dream about a girl that has been described to look eerily like her and then tell Myka that it was actually her; she knows it to be true, and then for her to tell the teen exactly how to fix all her problems? That was ridiculous.

Myka Bering felt truly alone. She leaned over onto her nightstand and snatched up a pen, then flipped the diary back open. For the first time she decided to write down the words straight from her heated emotions.

April 21, 1991

I do not pull out my hair! And I hope you and Samantha are happy together!

Myka pressed her pen hard into the page in anger, as she aggressively chewed her bottom lip whilst scribbling down her thoughts.

You guys can train champion horses and go to weddings while I sit here watching my blood drip out of my body after I have cut my own skin open. You wonder if I write responses out to your entries or if I just write out my feelings? Well here I go; this is what I write…

I have no friends

The only place I feel safe and loved is in books

Yes! Call me crazy because I vicariously live through fictional stories!

My dad hates me

My mom just lets him hate me too

My little sister whom I rarely see doesn't even look up to me

Yes I excel at school and in all my extracurricular activities

But how much does that truly matter if you're alone and misunderstood?

I just hate my life! I wish I was somebody else!

Myka took her scribbling pen away from the page and looked up out of their book in realization on what she had just written. She wanted to be someone else? She wanted to be like someone else just like her friend wanted to be a boy? Her friend said she wanted to be someone else but then changed her mind, and instead vowed to be the best of herself.

Myka then took a deep breath and readjusted her tense jaw that hurt from her clenching it. Her lower lip also throbbed from gnawing on it so she gently sucked it into her mouth and worked it with her tongue as she put pen to paper once again after taking a collective moment.

I'm sorry

I'm sorry that I took out my crummy life on you. I just wish that you were right here beside me now because I'm starting to cry and I want a hug. I want a hug from you and I want you to rub my back and tell me that everything is going to be okay, and actually mean it. On the outside I look fine, but in the inside I am lost and alone. I have never told anyone that before, only to you; the one person whom I can never be with. Here you are, my friend, making new real friends in your life, which I am very proud of, by the way. And you are finding adventures and creating missions. The only mission that I have is to graduate with honors and go to a good college. I don't even know what I want to do when I grow up, all I ever seem to care about are my grades. But a grade is just a number, I'm not just a number…. or am I? I really don't know anymore. Maybe that's my destiny, to be without emotion and do as I'm told. I'm good at following instructions. It's easy to keep a low profile when doing as told. But living like that brings me no joy. I don't think I've ever known joy. It seems like a wonderful feeling to experience.

Ah well, to each their own emotionless or emotion filled life. But I do want to make a pack with you. You will go down with your name in history, because you are the most amazing spit fire I've ever known. And I will prevail in whatever career I choose to do, because no one has more focus than I do.

We can both be ourselves and NOT other people, because other people don't have us as each other's friends, and in my opinion; you make me the luckiest person in the world.

With all the love that I have,

Your friend from the future


	6. Gravity

"Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?

These two have ticed me hither to this place,

A barren detested vale you see it is;

The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,

Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe,"

The young curly haired brunette thrust out her hands in gesturing to the barren forest that could only be seen in her, and the late Shakespeare's, imaginations. She intensely stalked the shelves of her family's store while performing a dramatic reciting of the bard's works.

"Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,

Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven:

And when they showed me this abhorrèd pit,

They told me, here, at dead time of the night,"

She walked up to her favourite chair and grabbed her zip-up hoddie that hung off its armrest before wringing the sweater with great force between her tightly clenched first.

"A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,

Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,

Would make such fearful and confusèd cries"

The girl shouted out at the top of her lungs before whipping her jumper forcefully to the ground.

"As any mortal body hearing it

Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly—"

"Myka?" her dad called out in cutting her off.

The girl in complete embarrassment; instantaneously went ridged and her face coloured and burned hot in humiliation. She had thought her parents were out.

"Ye- yeah dad?" the girl spun around then poked her head past a nearby shelf to see her mom and dad standing in the main/centre isle of the store, removing their jackets. Her dad raised his eyebrow and gave her an odd look, where her mom was biting back a laugh. "Hey guys. I didn't hear you come in."

"No, I couldn't imagine that you would," He said with the slights bit of amusement in his tone. "What are you doing?"

"Oh," Myka shifted awkwardly, "Just putting the new deliveries away. Mom asked if I could do it after I finished my Latin and Chemistry homework. Which I did….so, yeah…" she swallowed and tilted her head, blinking her huge eyes.

"Yeees," Her Dad simply said before walking away.

Jeanie then took the opportunity to giggle under her breath before saying to her embarrassed daughter, over her shoulder, whilst waking away, "You make a very lovely Tamora, honey."

"Mooom," Myka wined; getting a full laugh in return from the woman.

The girl then quickly finished with her stocking chores, having only one smaller box left to go before she grabbed up her backpack and foil (fencing sword) which were both sitting next to her favourite reading chair. She then threw on her hoodie, before she shouted up the stairs to her parents that she was going to the park.

Myka leisurely walked the calm streets of her neighborhood, not minding the grey skies and the thick humid air. She made it about two blocks up before she saw three girls from her homeroom class exit the local ice cream parlor.

Out of habit, Myka looked down and glued her eyes on the pavement while approaching the trio, hoping that they paid her no heed, not that the girls were ever mean to her, she just felt awkward around others her own age.

The brunette tucked her arms in tight to her sides; making herself as little as possible, and walked by them. "Is she carrying a sword?" She head on girl whisper to the others.

"I think she's on the fencing team," Another one of the girls responded.

The third said where they all giggled in rejoinder, "Bet you she's gunna rob the pop-&-stop."

"That would be boss! Steal all the candy and soda!" The first girl laughed before they vanished down the ally way.

Myka didn't know quite how to take their conversation. She felt this odd insecurity mixed with pride, which didn't quite make sense to her.

When she reached the park she walked to her tree, the tree that she always sat under. It was as if the trunk was curved perfectly for her thin back to lean up against. She threw down her backpack and took a better hold of her foil. There she pointed the blade down to the grass before charging the air, blade swinging through the thick moisture as if she were dicing it up.

A smile broke across her face, when she began to pretend that she was jousting with her diary friend with wooden swords in Victorian London. They would have done that too, fought each other for fun. Or rather, they would have dueled to push the other into greatness which would have also yielded fun. Myka would recite Shakespeare to her friend and she would respond back in the bard's words at their swords clanged. Myka new that she would, her Victorian friend would know all Shakespeare's works too.

After her pleasant daydream, Myka took a seat against her tree; pulling out their diary from her knapsack. Flipping it open to where she had last left off; right before her friend was about to tell her about her cousins' nuptials. Myka then began to read…

Ah, and now I am rambling and have nearly writing five pages here and not even begun on telling you about the wedding. Well, it was an outdoor event with beautiful flowers everywhere. I made Samantha help me paint some of the white roses red, just like in this book that I read once before. When her mum, my aunt, found out what we had done she went completely livid on us, but it was still well worth it. The ceremony was boring except for when the couple said their vows. When Phil said his vows to Marcy, he told here that their souls were like gravity and no matter where the two of them where in the world, they would feel the force of it pulling them together until they found each other. Now at first, I must admit, I thought his analogy ridiculous. If their "souls" had gravity then everyone's souls would have gravity, meaning, if that were the case, we would be pulled to everyone's souls and orbit them. And how much mass would a soul need in order to pull something from the other side of the planet? But when I looked past the preposterousness of the metaphor I thought on whether or not the concept of it was true. For that we, both you and I, are tethered together, darling, and we are across time. So maybe there is verity in his words.

Well, I feel like a chatter head today, I shall say fare well now. I do wish to sneak a late snack from the kitchen whilst my mum is still preoccupied in the tea room with my aunts.

I love you always

Myka decided to read another entry, just needing to drink up more of her dear friends words.

October 18, 1878

I had a strange dream last night, darling. I was in this ring, like an arena, sand lining the ground with a huge, heavy sword in my grasp. Then came out this statuesque knight, full armour, shield down covering his face, and a long sword in hand. He approached me, swinging his blade. I fought back but he was so much stronger than I, he easily knocked my blade from my hold. I threw up my hands in surrender; pleading for my life. But in a booming voice he responded, 'I must kill the evil within' and he then stabbed me through my gut. Sliding of his sword he reached out and caught me; slowly lowering me down the the ground. He put down his bloodied sword next to us and removed his helmet. But then the strangest thing transpired, the face that was revealed to me was not some evil man's face, but a beautiful woman's. She had soft features, full lips, perfect olive eyes, with curly golden brown hair cascading down her armour. I knew her face, I recognised her. She was the little girl that had ripped the hair out from her little head in my dream prior, but now grown up into a magnificent angel. She looked to me with loving eyes and put her hand to my wound whilst kissing my forehead. She then told me in a beautiful voice, 'you are all right now.' Within that moment, I believed her more than I believed the sky blue or the grass green. I have never felt that loved and protected then I had, then, in her arms.

I know who she is, darling! I know who she is, and I know you do too! She is you! I see you! You are the gravity that my soul feels! I must admit, I don't really know what my previous dream meant, but the one I had a while back with you on the snow white bed, bloodied hair about you…oh darling, I am truly sorry that it took me to now to know it was you. Are you alright? I wish that I could scoop you up in my arms and hold you like you did to me in this last dream.

Myka's gaze lifted out of her book, eyes too wet to make out the text. She had begun crying the moment she had read 'curly golden brown hair'. Wiping her tears away; she bit her lip and continued reading.

Do not inflict harm on yourself, my sweet, beautiful, darling. After gazing into your majestic green eyes, I have fallen madly and deeply in love with you, and you cannot ever fade. I need you!

The girl's body wracked in tears as she pushed herself to make out the rest of the entry.

I will bloody make a machine that will bend time and space so I can reach you if I have to! Promise me that you will be alright! You have to! You have to promise me! Promise!

That was how the entry ended, no farewell in polite departing words, just a direct order from the Victorian directed towards Myka. The brunette scrambled in her pack for a pen, like her friend were in that moment there begging her for a reply right then and there. Finding one; she put pen to paper, writing it straight after her friend's entry, not on the opposite page like she had always done before.

She began to write; saying out loud with conviction as her pen moved across the page, "I promise."


	7. Time

Myka looked up from their diary after just promising, in ink, not to hurt herself ever again. Her heart jumped in startle when seeing a dark coloured woman in a pink tweed skirt suite standing a few metres away from her, in the grass. The brunette wiped her, still pooling eyes; clearing her vision. The mystery woman's, glasses-covered, eyes gazed upon her, sitting under her tree. The woman merely bowed her head at her before turning away, slowly walking off. Myka glanced back to the book, reading over her words, like her penmanship was the thing to bring on that strange lady, herself. The girl then looked back up, but was shocked in the fact that the woman was gone. There was no physical way that she could have gone far enough that she would not be able to be seen; she had only just been standing there in a relatively large open field. There were no trees to conceal her; she had simply just disappeared into thin air.

"Okay, I feel like I should be more creeped out than I am," Myka muttered to herself after scanning about her vicinity, finding herself to be alone. "Maybe I'm just seeing things?" she questioned her own sanity.

The girl then sighed, finding herself in a trite mood. Stoically she clutched the book in her two hands before dropping her upper body to the ground. She was slightly uncomfortable due to a root digging into her back, but she did not change positions, instead she just lay there. Her mood was unrecognisable; she merely blinked her blank eyes as she gazed over the field. She then realised that three figures were approaching, they were the same three girls that she saw in the street exiting the ice cream parlour just prior that day. Her mind didn't compute that she was staring at them from on the ground, she just treated the girls as if she were watching television whilst lying on the floor at her aunt's house (the Bering family did not own a TV). It wasn't until the girls got close enough and one of them locked eyes with her for a split second, did Myka sit up and speedily open her book like she were reading; trying to look normal. Tara, Myka knew the girl's name to be, smiled at her before turning back to her friends in conversation. The trio then walked past her, down the bike path that soon went into bush.

Myka then looked back to the open book and realised that it was on that same page that she had only just written in. Picking up her pen, she rested it on the blank page opposite wanting to write, but no thoughts came out. She tapped the pen against blank paper, making speckles of ink, yet nothing came to mind. Instead she decided to read her friends following entry, flipping a page she began to read.

October 19, 1878

Dear Darling, I hope both your heart and mind fare sound today. Mother says never to ask on ones sanity for that it possesses no tact, but I think only a cold hearted clot-pole would fail to ask such an important question.

Anyhow, I did a little research in the library today on sadness. I do not want to make any offence but, Darling, I feel your heavy heart, especially when I am physically nearest our diary. I slumber with the book right beneath my pillow which makes me grow ever more curious regarding my dreams. Do you think bending time is possible? What I mean to say is; time is linear, correct? We always move forward in time, never backwards nor jump about through it. But what if something had the power to bend it on top of itself making a single point in space actuality two points in space? What if this book is that point? The point where the diary is what it was, and was what it is going to be. And as I sleep maybe I am somehow taking my mental defences down and opening my mind up to hear you.

Sorry, I just went off on a ludicrous thought train made up of fantasy fairy dust and magick lamps. What I am writing is fallacious, I know... or is it? What if someone could figure out how to manoeuvre through time as they pleased? No! No! I am now truly going mad with though. I shall dismiss this subject because I wish to tell you about my findings in the library today.

I was reading on the subject; 'sadness', and came to this term known as 'depression'. I have never heard of this condition before, have you? It is when a person is at a constant state of sadness. Well, I think you may have The Depression. Do not fret though, Darling! This one text sugessted that you should look for an activity to busy yourself with… though, I personally find that to be a little lacking. I think it is not necessarily what you are doing but who you are doing it with. Sure riding my steed alone is fun, but I am finding much greater pleasure in it with Samantha accompanying me. We have gone riding a few times together now. It is quite enjoyable. So what if you did this same thing? You do something fun that you love with another person. Maybe that would make you feel better and un-depressed… not depressed… without the depression? Well. However one is supposed to say it.

Oh heavens! I hear my mum screeching from down stairs. She must have found the rat that I caught and stowed inside her quale roster. I must go now.

Farewell my Darling and I do truly mean fare well in both body and mind.

Myka couldn't help but bite back a snicker from her friend's last remark. She really was a trouble maker, catching and stowing rats. The brunette felt loved within that last message, like she had truly found someone on her side fighting for her, who knew her better than anyone else. She smirked and put pen to paper, this time finding the words after she thought upon the theories that her friend was talking about, and how impossible it was that she knew them.

April 26, 1991

Einstein! Oh my goodness, you are preaching out Einstein theories before he was even born! How are you even possible? How are you even real? You are a genius or something! According to Einstein (the smartest acclaimed theoretical physicist ever to live) space-time is curvature, so it can bend. I mean, I also don't think that our diary is a touching point of folded time either. That is ridiculous. Paper and ink can't bend time. But seriously, I'm still blown away by your mind. Your name will certainly go down in history, I just know it! Though, I don't know your name. Not that it matters personally, but I wish that I could check for you if you are famous and what you're famous for. Unfortunately there are not many well-known women from Victorian time… your time. You are from the Victorian era. Pretty cool, eh? You are from an 'era'. That sounds so passé but like in a good suave way. Anyway, the reasoning for this lack of famous women during your time is because of the Neanderthal men that ran your day. I mean, men still kinda run my time too, but nowhere near what you are privy to knowing. So when, I mean, now, Now that your name is down in history, it could have been stolen by a man, passed off as his own. Or maybe you passed off your genius purposely through a man, because it was the only way that you could get your ideas out there and heard. Or maybe you somehow did manage to get your real name published! Oh that would be fantastic if you could do that, I mean, if you did do that.

Myka stopped writing when she heard footsteps crunching on the path. She looked up and cranked her neck backwards to see Tara emerging out from the bush, alone. The other girl had dirty-blonde hair that was cropped at her shoulders. She had a kind face unlike her two other friends who always looked a bit annoyed at life. Myka knew that their trio was formed in Sunday school at church back when they were all in grade one. Myka often wondered, if her family had ever bothered to take her and Tracy to church, that she might have made friends there too.

As the girl got closer Myka concluded that Tara would probably make a fine friend. If she would ever like the brunette enough to give her the time of day, that was. Myka thought on her Victorian's theory of finding someone to accompany her as she did some activity that she loved to do.

Tara was getting closer, but Myka was becoming more nervous with each step that she took. She didn't know how to engage people her own age. She found conversing with adults a much easier task. Myka then remembered the rat in the roaster and almost began to laugh. If her friend was crazy enough to catch a rodent then live the wrath of her mother after she found it in her cooking wear (because all mothers would be furious after that), then she, Myka, could be crazy enough to talk to a friendly face.

"Tara!" Myka blurted out awkwardly, not giving herself the chance to back down from talking to her.

The blonde responded in slight confusion, but still wore a legitimate smile, "Yes?" She stilled herself a few metres away.

"Um" The brunette sucked in her top lip going bug-eyed before saying, "Would you like to learn how to wield a sword?"

"Wheel a sword?" She scrunched her face, "Does that mean make a sword?"

Myka bit her lip but couldn't help but giggle out, "No." She then went on to explain, "It means to use a sword. Like learn the craft of swordsmanship."

Then Tara began to laugh at herself, "Oh!"

"Yeah!" Myka joined in with another little giggle.

"Stupid me," she sighed, "I really do know nothing."

"What?" Myka said in slight shock, "No way. You're not stupid. 'Wield' is just one of those obscure esoteric words that you would only hear if you were interested in hobbies revolving tools and weapons."

"Wow, you use big words."

"Sorry, I read… lots," she cocked her head in embarrassment.

"Yeah, you're like the cool kid that is like above school itself 'cause you're like smarter than all the teachers," the girl said genuinely where Myka blushed in return.

"Wow," She gasped, "I've never…erm- I mean, ah, thanks."

Tara grinned, "So, are you really gunna teach me how to use that sword?" she pointed to Myka's weapon lying in the grass.

"Well, if you like?" the brunette beamed with excitement, "I mean, this is a foil, not a sword... I mean it is a sword… kind of."

"Cool!" Tara squealed. "I'm going to be like Blind Fury!"

"Sure," the brunette nodded not knowing who she was referring to. "Okay, do you want to pick up the foil so I can teach you a few things?"

"I can't," She said.

"Oh," Myka's head dropped, "I understand if you don't want—"

"No, I mean, I can't now. I'm on my way home from dinner. I have a six o'clock curfew."

The brunette looked up, "Oh!"

"Yeah, so do you think that you could teach me another day? Like tomorrow after school or something?"

"Yeah, no of course. That would be cool," Myka nodded with a smile so big that her cheeks hurt.

"Sweet!" Tara grinned and turned around; heading off, "Bye Myka!" she called over her shoulder.

"Bye!" Myka waved. A warm tingle ran up the back of her neck in hearing the other girl call her by name. Tara knew her name and she even thought that Myka was cool too.

With a plastered smile on her face, Myka picked up the diary and wrote.

I think I just made a new friend! Wish me luck.

Your still, always and forever,

Best friend from the future


	8. Circle

Thirteen-year-old Myka stood at the top of a huge mountain, but, to her surprise, it wasn't just a mountain; when she turned around towards its peak, she saw a crater filled with a steaming pool of lava, in its centre.

She curiously made her way down into the crater; staying on the rock ground that surrounded the lava pool; her eyes watering due to the stinging heat of the volcano.

"Have you come to punish the world too?" a young, Londoner-girl's voice startled Myka. The brunette jumped; spinning around to find a girl around her age, with long black hair, looking up at her with crazed eyes. The girl was knelt near the edge of the lava with a fork in her hand. It was not just a plain piece of cutlery, though; it had a stick bound across its handle, representing wide-stretched arms, and two black dots on its head, to look like eyes. "I'm going to blow up the entire Earth!" the raven haired girl laughed manically.

"But why would you want to do that?" Myka asked the girl.

The raven-haired girl blinked at her in confusion, not understanding Myka's perplexity, "because it's been bad." The girl then grinned towards the brunette as she sprung up to her feet, "This is Christina!" she shoved the fork-person in front of her, "she will rid the world of evil for us." The British girl then turned to the lava, "just like this," and threw the fork in, where it plummeted; head first, into the sweltering liquid; disappearing in smoking crimson.

The ground instantaneously began to tremble. Myka then yelled at her over the rumbling noise, "What did you do? You just killed us!"

The crazed girl's grin fell into a look of concern, like she was just realising something. Her eyes ripped off from the lava pool, and onto Myka's face. "I killed you?" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes, but none fell due to the intensity of the heat that surrounded them.

"Yeah," Myka nodded her head sadly, "you killed me, and you, and everybody."

The little girl began to weep, "I don't care about me and everybody else, but you can't die! You must live!"

The Brit then grabbed a stick that lay by her feet and ran over to Myka. She then quickly walked around her, dragging one of the stick's ends in the dirt, making a ring around her. "Now, don't leave this circle," the girl instructed the brunette with a loving smile, "you'll be okay now, Myka darling. I promise."

Before Myka could reply, fire shot up and out from the volcano in an explosion. Everything outside of her circle-in-the-dirt vanished in reds and oranges, including the little raven haired girl.

"Noooo!" Myka shot up in her bed, reaching out in front of her, trying to grab back her friend from the flames. In shallow quick breaths she looked about frantically, but then calmed down a bit when recognising her bedroom. After a few calming deep breaths, Myka plunged her hand beneath her mattress, retrieving their diary; knowing exactly who the girl was in her dream. Though, she hadn't had the slightest idea in what the dream meant.

With what little light the moon gave her through the slots in her blinds, she opened up the book; not knowing what she was doing exactly, but she felt compelled to see to their book. When her eyes fell onto the open journal, she noticed a post-it note stuck onto one of its pages. It was rather dark in the room, so all Myka could really make out of the note were two little words, 'keep' and 'it' in all capital letters.

The girl then turned to her night-side table, flicking on her light. After a moment of allowing her eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, she looked back down at the book, but she saw no post-it. It was just a journal entry of her friend's that she had already read a few days ago. "What the…?" Myka muttered to herself, swearing that she had just seen an affixed note on that page. Putting the book down on her bed, she got up and searched her vicinity for the lost piece of paper. She looked in her blankets, under her bed, and even on her nightstand, but she found nothing.

She then sighed heavily; concluding that she must have had dreamed up the existence of the post-it, and crawled back into bed. Myka glanced at her alarm clock, her sleepy body agreeing with the time of 3:07 am, as she slid the diary back under her mattress before turning off her light. Her head crashed down onto her pillow as sleep almost instantaneously took her over again. She had a big afternoon planned with Tara and fencing that day, and needed her rest.


	9. Fire

Myka rolled over in her bed, reaching over to hit 'snooze' on her beeping alarm clock for the third time that morn, a mere four hours after her odd dream, that she thought had woke her up. Though, she wasn't completely sure if she had actually awaked that night, or had just dreamed that she had.

She then remembered her play-date that day, which made her skin feel hot in nervous anticipation. She was both scared and excited for it. The girl pried her eyes open; looking at the clock, she judged if she had time to read a diary entry, hoping that it would somehow give her courage for the engagement later that day. She concluded that she would be tight on time, but decided to take up their diary anyway, and deal with the consequence of having to run around like a mad girl that morning as she were to get ready for school.

Opening their book to where the thin ribbon bookmark lay, she began to read:

October 20, 1878

BLOODY BLIMEY BLOW ME BLAST! Darling, my heavens, you'll never believe what has ONLY JUST happened!

Only moments ago I had walked into my room to grab my Martian-Slaying Staff when WOOSH my pillow caught fire! I'll admit this to you, I panicked. But only a little! Our diary was under there, I had reason to be fearful. So I ran to my bed, jumped up upon it, and then kicked the flaming pillow onto the ground. And, I swear to you right now, that when I looked upon our book, it was steaming BUT NOT BURNT. However, my sheets around it were black and scorched. After I speedily dumped my washing-bowl's water onto my pillow: extinguishing the fire, I picked up the book that was COOL on my skin. BUT that is not even the truly disturbing part, darling! What was strictly queer was the burnt imprint of the floral-leather cover into my sheets, directly beneath the book. At risk of sounding mad, I believe that the book is trying to kill me!

…all right, maybe it's not, but still! How did that even- I don't understand! It looked as if our book started the fire, but clearly, by both you and I holding it in our hands now, it's not tarnished. Although, maybe it is tarnished in your hands because I do seem to wreck things. My mum says that it's in my nature. Anyway, point being, I apologise for our book's blemishes. I would wager good money on any damages, cuprite from me… I don't think I used that word correctly. I would wager good money on me being the culprit for any damaged done. There, I believe that that is correct now.

Oh dear, I'm rabbit trailing here. Book, not burnt! And, Bloody Hell, I have to try to explain to my mother why my good goose pillow is a charred mess. Blimey is it ever malodorous! Singed feathers, who'd have known they smell like death? Well, I would assume death to smell like this. Though, in a peculiar way, it smells a little comforting, I'm not certain why.

Well, I suppose that I shall inform Lieutenant Mother about the fire (That's the rank I assigned her. If she were in the military, her bossiness would equate to a lieutenant, me thinks). Well, Better conceal our diary first: don't want her snooping.

Wish me luck!

I love you always, my sweet darling.

Ps Sorry for the foul language.

Myka closed the book with a furrowed brow; turning over the book, closely examining its cover. She also didn't see any burn markings on it. She then put it to her nose, smelling it, but again, there was no indication that it had been on or near fire.

Myka then glanced back at the time, hurriedly putting the book under her mattress before she got up and dressed for the day. Grabbing her fencing equipment, she rushed out her bedroom-door towards the kitchen, passing her dad in the living room, to snatch a granola bar and apple for take-away.

After she seized her food, she clumsily back-stepped away from the cupboard; bumping into a chair. "Myka, honey, slow down there," her mother said from the sink as she washed a dish.

"Sorry," she shoved the chair back into its place, "kinda running late," she mumbled through the apple, now held between her teeth.

"Hey," Jeanie motioned to her foil; shoved in-between her back and knapsack, "I thought you didn't have practice today?"

Myka crunched down on her apple, removing it from her mouth's grasp so that she could better talk, "I'm not practicing with the team," she said before crunching on the piece of fruit in her mouth.

"You know, you're already the best girl on the team. You don't need to always be practising." She smiled at her, "Why don't you try something like dance lesions or maybe a cooking class?"

Myka growled in disgust towards those mentioned things, "Moooom," she whined, "Those are boring, and besides, I need to practice until I'm the best in the league, not just best in my school." The teen purposely did not tell her mother about Tara joining her; scared that she may overact in some joyous way towards her loner daughter's peer interaction. Myka knew that she would not be able to deal with the added pressure that her mother would put on her.

Just from outside the room, they heard the annoyingly loud beep from the answering machine. Her dad must have been going through the messages. Myka took that as her cue to vacate the apartment; finding the device to be the most irritating thing in the world. The messages were never for her anyway.

Myka scurried to the stairs but soon stopping dead in her tracks, after hearing a man's voice with a Londoner's accent, emanating from the machine. "Hello, this is Lewis from Peter Herrington's Books just getting back to you on that missing order. We have searched the store here with no luck in finding that child's diary. We were fairly certain that it was in the packet we shipped to you. But, since you claim that you have not received it, and it seemed to not hold that terribly much of a value, with it being just an imaginative journal written back-and-forth between two girls, we will simply reimburse you for the eighty pound you paid on it…."

Myka almost chocked on her apple after hearing him refer to their diary as 'a journal written back-and-forth between two girls'. How could that be? It wasn't a book of dialogue until just recently when Myka began to write in it. The man must have been mistaken. That was the only reasonable explanation.

The man finished off with some banter about money and payment that Myka muted out in her head. The next thing she heard was the beep of the machine before it spoke out in its irritating automated voice, "You have no more messages."

Myka could hear her dad muttering something in grumbled frustration, before she bounded down the stairs, not wanting him to notice her. She didn't wish to chance him asking her further questions about the book.

Still in a state of confusion over the man's description of their diary, the brunette hurried off to school, not wanting to be late. Myka Bering was never late!


	10. Found

On that sunny South Dakota day in 2012, after Mrs. Frederic appointed HG Wells guardianship of the astrolabe, the Victorian couldn't bring herself to leave straightaway. She ended up leaving the Warehouse only to make a quick stop back at the B&B.

Leena had met her in the front foyer when hearing her enter; though she did not say a single word to the inventor. HG assumed that the innkeeper could merely tell by her aura that she had no need to neither interfere nor allow Artie to know of her presence there. HG felt rather embarrassed actually, as the clairvoyant studied her; her actions in being there were rather foolish indeed. HG bowed her head in gratitude towards Leena where she received a head nod back with a soft smile. The Brit made haste up the stairs; slowing down only once she had reached the door to Myka's room.

Shutting her eyes for a moment whilst taking in a deep breath; she turned the knob open and slid inside. She was quick to close the door behind her to keep her presence concealed. The woman looked about her dear friend's room, not understanding what exactly had made her come to this place and why she relied on what little essence of the young agent she could grasp, to give her strength for another day and keep her going. But there she was, tears brimming in her eyes as she took a big whiff of the sweet vanilla and leather air that was the smell of Myka Bering's room.

The woman slowly meandered her way across the space, allowing her long fingertips to drag over the duvet on the bed when she passed it. She stilled herself at the night side table, first hesitant not to open the drawer and look inside, wanting to respect the other woman's privacy. However, she could not find the strength to not open it and look; needing to learn more about her dear Myka.

When the drawer slid open, she gasped at a sight that made her welled eyes, leak tears. There lay her locket, the one that she had specifically left for Myka to find, those many months ago. HG picked up her trinket and laughed at the doubt she had in Myka Bering, for not being meticulous enough to notice her discarded necklace on the floor.

The woman opened her locket to rub her thumb lovingly across her daughter's image. She then wiped her eyes and placed the pendant back inside the drawer; not wanting to take it from Myka. She knew that the younger agent would give it back to her when she could, and she looked forward to that day. HG then closed the drawer, almost warded off by the locket that now again lay inside of it.

The Victorian then turned to the bookshelf, smiling at the shared love for books that they both had, and ran her hands over the bindings; reading their titles. She bit her lip to conceal a grin when she saw The Time Machine lying on top of the neatly, filed away stack, as if Myka had recently been reading it. Just as she was about to reach for the book, she stopped mid-movement when her eyes caught sight of a small, blue book-box, filed away on the bottom shelf. She didn't know why, but something wall pulling her to that box. She slowly lowered herself to the floor, crossing her legs as she sat, and reached for the slim, blue, cardboard container. She slid it out and placed it on her lap before gently lifting its lid. There was indeed a book inside, but it was wrapped in thin, white tissue paper. Carefully she unwrapped the the top layer, revealing a brown leather diary with a floral pattern etched into it, and blackened, charred edges as if it were previously in a fire.

HG stared at it blankly, not understanding its existence or trusting her own eyes. It looked exactly like her own childhood diary, but there was no way in which this could be hers, she thought. It must have been just a strange coincidence.

The woman then carefully picked up the journal from inside the box; turning it over in her hands while examining it. The top right corner was quite charred and the pages seemed burnt away in the same corner too. The Brit then slowly opened the book to find the following entry, some place near the middle of the diary:

 

Do not inflict harm on yourself, my sweet, beautiful, darling. After gazing into your majestic green eyes, I have fallen madly and deeply in love with you, and you cannot ever fade. I need you!

I will bloody make a machine that will bend time and space so I can reach you if I have to! Promise me that you will be alright! You have to! You have to promise me! Promise!

In a different cursive and ink colour, the very next line read in response:

I promise.

 

"No, no, no," HG shook her head, baring wide eyes, recognising her entry and the very reference she made as a child, to Myka. "But how?" She muttered.

The Victorian then quickly flipped a few pages back and began to skim read some more, but this time, on the opposite side, where the responses lay:

 

I just wish that you were right here, beside me now, because I'm starting to cry and I want a hug. I want a hug from you and I want you to rub my back and tell me that everything is going to be okay, and actually mean it. On the outside I look fine, but in the inside I am lost and alone. I have never told anyone that before, only to you; the one person whom I can never be with.

 

The date of that entry stated:

 

April 21, 1991

 

It was that date and those child's words, Myka's child-words that hit HG like a ton of bricks. She had realised and accepted that she and Myka shared this book and that they were connected across time and space, always had been. Myka was hers and she was Myka's. Her instincts about the younger agent were not instincts at all, but they were memories of a trusted friend, a friend that she had indeed come to meet in person.

HG closed the book and thrust it against her heart in a desperate hug; body convulsing as she wept.

How could she have been so naive to not see who Myka really was, all this time?

She clung to their diary, trying to hang onto Myka herself as her body was wracked with tears. She longed to wrap her arms around her dear friend, her best friend, her darling from the future. She desperately needed to bury her face into Myka's neck and cling to her body and tell her that she loved her and needed her. But she couldn't do that. Myka was on an artefact hunt and HG was to not trust anyone with having the astrolabe in her possession. The Victorian did, however, have a means of communicating with Myka. She had their diary. It was now her turn with it; to read and respond to her darling friend, and hope for the day that she would be with her in the very flesh, once again.

The Brit wiped her eyes with her sleeve before she placed the tissue paper back into the blue box; sliding it into its place on the bottom shelf. She then placed their diary inside the front pocket of her bag that held the astrolabe, as she stood up on her feet.

She looked about the room one last time before she exited, both, her childhood and current best friend's domain; a storm of emotions brewing in her stomach with regards to the anticipation of reading their diary as well the sadness of her leaving the Warehouse and Myka.

Slipping away, Helena Wells left with hope inside her bag as well as inside her heart. Myka Bering was often apart from her, but she was forever a part of her.


	11. Burned

"So, wanna go for ice cream now?" Tara turned to Myka, in their school's empty football field, after only practicing fencing for ten minutes.

Myka giggled towards the other girl's short attention span, but welcomed it happily due to the fact that the blonde had at least not grown tiered of Myka herself. "Sure," she smiled.

"Good, 'cause I'm getting hot and worn-out here." She swung the foil through the air, "Being Blind Fury is hard work," she smiled back at Myka. The brunette took the weapon from her and packed it away before they left for the ice cream shop. "Can I ask you a question?" Tara looked to Myka as they walked through the field.

"Sure," she responded hesitantly, somewhat afraid of what it would be.

"How come you're so nice? I mean, you don't go to church, right? So like, aren't you supposed to be a bad person 'cause Satan has you in his party, or something?"

Myka scrunched her face in confusion, "what?"

Tara looked at her innocently and shrugged her shoulders, "I dunno, that's what my pastor says about people who don't go to church. But you don't seem bad."

Myka shrugged back, "Maybe the devil's using me to trick you; making me seem nice to lure you into my wicked ways and make you a part of the Satan Party." Myka locked gazes with her.

Tara seemed to have contemplated the notion before smiling back at her, "Yeah, I don't think so."

Myka smiled, "you sure?"

Tara grinned and nodded her head, "yup!" before bursting out into laughter, where Myka was quick to join in.

The two girls got single-scoop cones of their favourite ice cream flavours. Myka was sure to get hers with extra sprinkles and caramel drizzle; she always did have a sweet tooth. The girls ended up playing the game 'would you rather…' for an hour, laughing nearly the whole time at the obscurity of the questions, as time went by. Before they knew it, it was time for them to part ways and go to their respective houses for supper.

Myka bounded up the stairs into their apartment, with a bounce in her step and a grin on her face that halted in a mere instance as soon as she caught a glimpse at her father, sitting on the sofa, eyes cold as ice as he glared towards her. What made the girl's heat stop, and her breath hitch in the back of her throat was the sight of a small, brown leather-bound book in his hand; it was their diary. Myka began to panic, her breathing suddenly started again at double time, as the palms of her hands began to perspire.

Warren slowly stood up, holding up the journal, "Now tell me something, Myka. Is this, or is this not, the diary that was missing from my book order?" He asked sternly.

Myka locked her focus on the book, and not on her father, as she took a step back; asking timidly, "where did you find that?"

"Your nightstand," he answered coldly, "while I was putting your new Popular Mechanics magazine inside your room, I saw it." Myka's mind raced, she would have never left their book out in the open. Then it hit her, it was Wednesday. Wednesday's were her mom's laundry days, she probably stripped Myka's bed to do her linens and found it; putting it on here table. "Now answer my question, Myka. Is this the lost book?" He demanded an answer from her. Myka gulped and looked down to her feet; nodding with shame. "See, I don't get it, Myka," he started angrily, "You are always asking for more responsibility, for more opportunities, for more trust, yet you _steel_ a seemingly priceless book from me. A silly little childish book with hardly a thing written inside it."

"You read it?" Myka's head snapped up in a feeling of violation.

"Read it?" he barked, "The book is practically blank!" he thumbed through it to show Myka the empty pages. "All that's inside it is a note that says, he flipped to a page near the back, " _I'll be back, my darling, I promise. We must be a little more patient in this long ride that we have been sailing on our entire lives, but we will be together once again soon, but this time it will be forever. I belong at the Warehouse, and more importantly, I belong with you."_ Myka looked to the book, then to her father, then back to the book, scrunching her face in total puzzlement towards both the message and the near empty diary. "I don't get it," he clapped the diary shut, "did you just take the book because you thought it was pretty and wanted your very own vintage journal of your own?"

"Myka looked down to her feet again as she muttered, "I dunno."

"You, young lady, are grounded for a month. Meaning, you go straight to school and then come straight home. You may not hang around in the store, but stay upstairs, here, in the apartment. And no extracurricular activities."

"But, Dad, I have state championships in two weeks for fencing!"

"Well, I guess you'll miss it then." Myka's eyes began to brim with tears as her life was slowly being ripped away from her. Her Latin classes, her fencing, her new friend, Tara, whom she would not be able to hang out with after school, all these things were now inaccessible to her. "Now for this book," Warren looked to the diary in-hand, "this thing is your lesson."

"What do you mean, Daddy?" Myka only ever called him that when she was scared. "It's not a lesson, it doesn't have to be a lesson." A tear escaped her eye; running down her cheek. She could tell her dad had something rash in mind. Warren's eyes flashed towards the lit fireplace in the room before he slowly walked towards it. "No, Daddy, Don't please!" Myka yelled.

"It's for your own good," he said whilst throwing the book into the fire.

"No!" Myka screamed at the top of her lungs; diving straight to the hearth. Before she allowed a thought to cross her mind, she plunged her hand into the flames and grabbed the book, tossing it onto the hardwood floor. The top corner was on fire, where she used her own hand to snuff it out.

"What in blazing Hell is going on in here?" Jeannie burst through the kitchen door to the sight of her daughter burning her hand as she cried over a book on the floor.

"Your daughter is insane!" Warren barked at his wife. "She just put her hand inside the fireplace!"

"I had to, you threw our book into it!" Myka snapped at him, face saturated with tears.

"It's _my_ book!" He approached her, hand raised as if he intended to strike her.

"Warren," Jeannie stepped between them, "I've got this," she said sternly, "go pull the meatloaf out of the oven before it burns". Myka had never seen her mom assert herself like that towards her father before. Though, Jeannie must have startled him more than her daughter, for that he then gruffly muttered something to himself as he walked into the kitchen.

Myka, body still shaking as she wept, carefully picked up the diary, corner pages crumbling to ash, as she held it to her heart in a hug. "Myka, sweetie…," Jeannie came over to her calmly, but before she could say another word, Myka pushed herself up off the floor and ran inside her room; slamming the door behind her with her book in hand. She grabbed her chair to shove it under her door knob, but then winced in pain as she let go of it to clutch her burned hand. She then angrily shoved the book under her arm and used her good hand to place the chair under the knob. She then slumped down on her floor, leaning against her bed, as her head dropped; the pain of her hand now intensifying. She looked to her burned palm; it was white and blistered, though she felt confident enough that it would heal just fine on its own. She actually chuckled at the irony that her right, dominant hand was damaged and would be too sore to hold a fencing foil for, probably, many days. She really wasn't going to be state champion. The girl then gently wiped the tears from her face with her forearm before allowing her arm to drop onto her knee, palm facing up as she allowed her burn to throb; biting her lip from the agony that it gave her.

She took a moment, breathing deeply, as she found her strength to look at their diary and assess the damage. She took it out from under her arm that was sandwiching it to her side. She put it down in front of her on the ground. She saw that the book's edges were charred and black, and when she opened the book, a fresh set of tears came streaming down her face as she saw the top right corner burned away a little bit. She then gently began thumbing through the pages. She began to chock as she started to both laugh and cry at the same time; all their journal entries were there; the pages were no longer blank. Though, she could not find that entry that her dad had read to her just moments ago.

The young girl set her eyes onto the book, convinced that it was magic. She then looked to her burned up hand and wondered if the book held some sort of power to heal it. She knew that sounded ridiculous, but she just could not understand the journal that lay at her feet. So she gently pressed her sore palm to the pages of the book and held it secure for a couple of seconds, but when she took her hand away and saw her hand in the same condition, she pouted and muttered with a croak, "well that was stupid of me. Of course that wouldn't have worked."

Myka then reached over to her nightstand and grabbed a pen. She held it awkwardly in her left hand; wondering if she could write with it. She then flipped to her friend's entry about their journal catching fire, and began to write on the opposite side, in shaky, large letters.

_April 27, 1991_

_Sorry, I'm the one who burned our diary. Mystery solved! Well, my dad was the one, actually. He found our diary in my room and got mad because I took it from him... well, from our family bookstore. Then he threw the book into the lit fireplace, but I saved it… and burned my hand in the process. That's why my writing is so messy right now. Sorry about that, but I'm using my left hand (I'm right handed). It really hurts too. Like really, really hurts. I wonder if I'll get a scare from this?_

_I don't understand what's happening here! Before my dad threw the book into the fire he opened it and there were like no words written inside of it. But clearly there are words in here! I swear you're right about this book, about it messing with time or something. Like the book is fixed in time and we're both interacting with it, and we somehow access it at different stages of its existence… does that even make any sense? I don't know what I'm saying. I don't know what I'm doing either. I had a lovely day today with my new friend Tara, but now it's all gone to garbage, but I'm not even freaking out right now, like I should be. I actually feel at peace for some reason and I don't even know why. I don't have a nervous cramped up stomach, I don't need to cut my leg and watch myself bleed, and I'm not even that upset with my dad right now. I made a friend today, I yelled at my dad, and put my hand into fire. Whatever is to come of me after today's incident, I can handle it. I know I can, and that's thanks to you and our little, now slightly crispy, forbidden book._

_Valedico, I love you so much,_

_Your best friend from the future (or whenever I'm from because, like I said before, I'm very confused here)_

H.G. Wells wiped a tear away from her eyes after reading the passage that was written by a teenaged Myka Bering. The Victorian inventor lay sprawled out on the bed of her current hotel room, with their diary in front of her; she had been bouncing from city to city for so many days now, that she couldn't even recall where she was at the moment. She still had yet to find a proper hiding place for the astrolabe, which meant that she was on a constant move.

Helena took up a pen and began to write right underneath Myka's entry, with a pleased smile on her face.

_July 28, 2012_

_Dear, my friend from the past, present and future (that's what you are. You are my dearest friend that has always been with me my whole life, the friend that I would be lost without.)_

_My silly, lovely, darling, of course you can handle anything that will… did… come to you. You are actually the strongest person I've ever known. You hold your chin up, and find that inner strength that shines out of you like a supernova, that I know so well, and trudge through all the shit that comes your way in life. You are better than all of it. I know it, and I believe that you're starting to realise it yourself as well._

_I'm waiting for you in the future, as I hope that future-you is waiting for me in the present._

_Valedico my darling, Myka_

H.G. then put down her pen and gently picked up the old, slightly charred journal and kissed her best friend's writing, before flipping the page to read on; having so much to catch up on in her dear friend's life.


	12. Strength

It had been a week since Myka's dad had found their diary and thrown it into the fireplace; leaving the teen's hand with a second degree burn which, ironically, came with a gift of metaphorically thicker skin. Myka had sneaked the journal out of her house to hide it in her school locker; scared to have it in the same building as her father. Her dad had not spoken more than a single sentence to her since that eventful day. He hadn't even asked her about the book. Part of Myka though that that was due to her mother having a chat with him, but another part of her thought that her actions had shocked him so drastically that he simply did not want to bother to figure out why she had done it. That would force him to actually care and pay attention to her, which seemed too far a reach for Warren Bering in the young Myka's mind.  
  
It was lunch time on a Friday, when she reached for their book for the first time that week, and plunked it inside her backpack. Despite the fact that she was grounded, Myka managed to get homework from her after-school Latin class, so she would not fall far behind. Myka also used her morning spare to sit in on Tara's art class and visit with her. Both the girls were thankful towards the teacher for being indifferent while allowing Myka to quietly chat with the girl as she worked on her assignments. During lunch, however, Tara hung out with her other two friends. Myka was fine with that, for that she did not feel entirely comfortable with trying to enter a tight-knit group of friends, such as theirs; one friend at a time was plenty enough for her at that moment. Besides, she used her lunch period to practice fencing with her left hand. Which proved difficult at first, but she enjoyed the challenge. She also couldn't help feeling good about the idea of becoming an ambidextrous fencer. That would truly make her the greatest in the state, even if she had to wait until the following year to prove it.  
  
Though, that particular lunch period both the gym and the outdoor fields were a fluster in preparation for the pep-rally that was happening that day, so Myka decided to not try and find an awkward corner to practice. Instead she made her way to the library; wanting to see to their diary. Rather than her going to an empty study desk, she found an isle of bookshelves and sat down at the end; leaning up against the wall. Out of her knapsack, she pulled the book out along with a strawberry twizzler; quickly popping one end of it into her mouth. She opened the book and began to read.  
  
  
_November 5, 1878_  
  
_My Darling, happy Guy Fawks day! Well, it's likely not the 5th of November for you too but I'm just so very excited, Guy Fawks day is my favourite! My family and I get to stay up late and go to the park for the great bonfire. The flames are GIGANTIC! I always go up close to the fire so that I may feel the heat on my face. I then I pretend that I'm on a pirate's ship that had just been attacked and is going down into the sea; crew burning and screaming as they jump off the railings to the cold waters below. My skin scorching though because, I the captain, am going down with my ship, like a true leader._  
  
  
Myka giggled to herself as she devoured the rest of her twizzler. She simply loved her friend's flair for the dramatic and her wild imagination.  
  
  
_I hear my mum calling me for supper. We're going to eat before we go to the festivities. If I'm not dead with exhaustion I'll write you later tonight, but If I'm a walking corps, I'll write you another day._  
  
_Fare well and I love you forever, my sweet darling_  
  
  
Myka flipped a page to see if she had written any more for that day, but she had not. So she took a pen from out of her bag, and began writing on the opposite page.

 

_May 03, 1991_  
  
_Well I guess you became a walking corps after all, which only makes sense if you burned alive and sunk in a pirate's ship. I hope you had an epic death. Oh! and if you've noticed, my handwriting isn't half bad now. I just started writing with my right hand yesterday. I still can't pick up my fencing foil with my right hand, but a pen seems to be fine._  
  
  
Myka sighed as her thoughts turned towards her past week; She wished to tell her friend all about it.  
  
  
_So, my Dad's been giving me the silent treatment. Yeah. He's not even letting me work in the book store, but honestly, with his current mood, I'm grateful that I can just hide in my room and do my school work in the evenings. Dinner's been awkward though, my dad just brings the newspaper to the table and doesn’t look up. Yesterday he wanted the butter that was right in front of me and asked my mom to pass it to him instead. He's definitely still very mad and disappointed with me. Though, I must say that I'm okay. Even though I'm still grounded I'm staying on top of all my school work. I told my fencing coach that I hurt my hand, and that my family told me that I could no longer participate with the team WHICH IS NOT A LIE… it's just not exactly the whole truth. The coach was disappointed, but understanding. He said that my spot on the team next year (our fencing season ends in less than two weeks) would be held open for me. Tara (that new friend that I mentioned earlier) and I are becoming closer. I like her, she's not exactly clever but her heart is kind. I can't say that I can ask for much more, It's not common to meet another person around my age that I can have things like deep and intellectual conversation with… well, except for you! God, listening to you ramble is like reading a crazed scientist fighting with a philosopher in a fiction novel. It's fantastic! I wish with all my being that I could know you in person. You'd probably make me second guess my entire existence every meeting we'd have. It'd be magnificent._

  


Myka's stomach growled in hunger.  
  
  
_I should probably get going here. I need to finish my lunch, and I'm not allowed to eat in the library (where I am now); I have to go out in the hallway._  
  
_Write you later, Valedico, love you,_  
  
_Your forever friend_  
  
  
She had done it, HG had finally found a safe hiding spot for the astrolabe. She had been out of communication with the warehouse, including Mrs. Fredrick, for a couple of months. She was told to rendezvous with the caretaker in Toronto at the end of the week, to debrief her and collect further instruction. HG was on a plane now, crossing the Pacific towards the Americas; heart full of fervour for that she was that much closer to her dear friend. There she sat at a window seat, 35,000 feet in the air, as she just finished reading Myka's diary entry.  
  
  
Helena looked towards Myka's passage with a sleepy lopsided smirk. That was her Myka Bering, strong and ready to face any problem, face on. It had broken her heart when reading the American's previous entries about her cutting herself. HG hoped to god that the agent had never taken a blade to herself since. However, the Victorian felt in her very soul that Myka hadn't. It wouldn't make sense if she had. Myka was stubborn, and if she decided to do or not do something, she would stick to her wits and see it all the way through.  
  
The inventor was growing weary, she had been awake for nearly twenty eight hours, her eyes heavily weighed down as she gently flipped the pages of the book; about to close it for the time being. Just as she moved her hand to shut the book, a page near the back caught her attention. It read in large writing, taking up nearly half the page:  
  
  
_Helena, hurry up already and come home!_  
  
  
HG's hand jerked in response when recognising Myka's handwriting; the book tumbling to the ground in result. The diary clapped shut as it landed atop of her folded jacket in front of her on the floor. HG hastily scooped it up and fanned through the pages to find the entry once again, but she didn't see it. Her heart started to race as she thumbed through it over and over again, each time more thorough than the other, but found it, she did not.  
  
She finally sighed in defeat; bringing her hand to her forehead in puzzlement as she rubbed her temples. Perhaps her over taxed mind was playing tricks on her, she deduced. Holding their diary closely in a one armed hug, she dropped her hand away from her head as she rested her crown to the window; soon falling into a slumber, but not before muttering under her breath, “I'm on my way, Myka.”  



	13. Bold

Sitting in math class that afternoon, Myka’s mind suddenly started to wander to the diary that she had just written in about an hour earlier. A sense of panic came over here as she thought back on the physical pages of their journal. She had remembered flipping the page to see if her friend had written any more about Guy Fawkes day, which she had not, but, for the life of her, Myka could not remember there being another journal entry on the following page. Thinking back on it a little longer, the girl remember assuming that her friend’s next entry was probably just on the following page. However, dwelling on it now, Myka couldn’t see why that would be so. A sickness came over her. What if that was the last entry? What if there was nothing more? Myka’s hand abruptly shot up to the sky.

“Yes, Myka, what is the solution for ‘x’?” her teacher responded to her action.

“Oh,” the teen’s eyes grew, realising that she had no idea what Mrs. McFeeders was scribbling on the chalkboard. “Actually, I was hoping that I could be excused to go to the bathroom?”

“Now?” the teacher furrowed her eyebrows. “Sure, I guess,” she shrugged and motioned at the door, “go ahead.”.

“Hey, why does she get to leave in the middle of a lesson?” Franz, the class clown, or as Myka thought of him, the annoying class shit disturber, pipped up from the back.

“Truthfully, straight A student’s get special treatment," she said as if she were disturbing his shit back on him, "You get an A on your next test, I’ll let you go to the bathroom whenever you want.”

“Really?” the boy asked excitedly. “I’m going to hold you to that, Mrs. McF.”

“Sure, Fanz. You do that,” she muttered sarcastically, clearly knowing that that day would never happen. He was a D-student, and everybody was aware of it.

Myka quickly slipped outside of the classroom, direction set for her locker that was on the lower floor.

Her heart was pounding as she cantered through the halls to her locker, fumbling on her lock. “This is crazy,” she whispered to herself. “There’s totally more written. I probably saw it. I just forgot. Or it’s on the next page. I only flipped over one page, right?” she questioned her memory once again.

She tugged her lock down, unhooked it, and ripped the door open. Her hand flung for the book that was on the top shelf, dropping her combination lock in its place. She flipped open the diary and thumbed through it frantically. She knew that the last entry that she had read was about two thirds way in. There was the November fifth entry, and her response on the opposite, left hand, side of the page, she then flipped the page over. It was blank, like she thought she’d remembered it. However, It looked as if the pages onward were worn like they’ve been written in, but Myka had never checked to see if the book has, indeed, been filled all the way up and to the end. She turned the page. Her eyes then began to well, for that the page read:

November 6, 1878

But that was it. There was nothing else written under the date.

“No, wait. What?” Myka shook her head in disbelief as she flipped to the next page. Nothing again. “No,” she whimpered. She flipped again, and again, feathering her way to the end: all blank. “No,” she banged her head against the neighbouring locker. Feeling a hot tear running down her cheek; quickly wiping it away when she heard the echo of footsteps down the hallway. She took a deep breath and shut her locker, book in hand.

She shoved the book into her large front pouch pocket of her sweatshirt as she slowly dragged her feet back to her math class. She didn’t remember the trip back to her seat, she couldn’t even recall which stairwell she took up to the second floor. When she found herself at her desk, she vaguely noticed that the kids around her were working silently on the homework, with a few hushed murmurs from the other side of the classroom. Myka just sat there, hands in her pocket, grasping the book; staring at the top of her desk; looking past her notes into oblivion.

This was it. Myka’s friend was done with her. She was gone. She had no more crazy stories to tell, no more theories to share, no more kind, loving words to bestow upon her. Her living, interactive mate from the past was now truly long dead. The bridge that crossed time and space felt as if it were crumbling to ash. It didn’t make sense to the girl. How could someone who was never truly there in the first place, leave such a void in her heart? She knew the entries would not go on forever, yet, in her heart, she felt like there was a whole story of theirs that had yet to be written. A story to fill a lifetime of books.

The bell rang, snapping Myka out of her trance. She had no idea how long she was sitting in her stillness, but it must have been awhile for that her hands ached from clenching their diary for the entirety of its time.

Her classmates jumped up, cheering that they didn’t have to go to the next class because of the pep-rally. The event was technically mandatory, but the school’s administrators didn’t much care if students skipped it and left early for the day. Myka had always gone to them, just because she didn’t feel comfortable enough to bend the rules and miss a school activity during school hours. However, today was different. The brunette was very quick to vacate the school premises to go home.

On her walk homeward bound she started to come out of her stuper with feelings of agitation. It was an overwhelming combination of sadness and helplessness. She wanted her diary friend. She made her feel powerful and brave. Could she be those things without her? Myka unconsciously picked up her pace, quickly nearing her parent’s shop. Her feet carried her through the front door, like she were on a mission that was completely unknown to her.

“Myka?”

The teen halted abruptly, in front of the checkout desk, at the sound of her father’s voice.

Myka turned towards him, stocking shelves. He then looked to the watch on his wrist before demanding an answer, “why are you not at school?”

The girl scratched her head awkwardly as she quietly responded, “It’s pep-rally day. I didn’t stay for it.”

The gruff man eyed her over the brim of his glasses before turning back to his books, muttering, “well then go make yourself useful upstairs.”

Myka nodded to the man who wasn’t even looking at her, before walking away. The girl made it halfway up the stairs before she pulled out the diary. It was the first time she’d done that out in the open. She didn’t know if she felt more guilty or less guilty for having the book, but whatever it was, she felt okay with it out in that moment. She opened it, not knowing why. She flipped near to the back; thumbing through the blank pages once again.

“I’m okay now. It’s okay to leave,” she whispered into the book, “I just need you one last time. Please,” she begged.

She continued going through the pages one by one until she found it. The one that she called for. The last message. Like her friend had tethered them once again to communicate directly to her. She choked back a laugh as her vision blurred through her suddenly wet eyes. On The second last page read one of her favourite Shakespeare quotes: 

Boldness be my friend

Myka shook her head, biting back a grin. She wiped her eyes before turning around to descend the stairs back towards her father.

She stilled herself in front of him, offering out their diary to him. She didn't know exactly why she had their diary for submission. She did not want him to read it. However, it felt like the only option, the only way to apologise in a truly honest way. The man stepped back with a face of puzzlement as he removed his glasses to better look at her. “Dad," she gulped, "I’m really sorry for taking this book. I’m sorry for not telling you that I took it when you were looking for it, and I’m especially sorry for breaking your trust,” she spoke with the utmost sincerity.

The man studied her, then looked to the book in her extended hand. He then fixed his gaze back on her before he calmly asked, “but why did you take it in the first place? That’s what I still don’t understand, Myka?”

Myka took a deep breath as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. “Dad,” she did everything not to cry, “I can't... You just have to take the book to understand.”

The man looked back to the book, where he put his hand on top of his daughter’s, he then gently pushing it back towards her. “No, Myka. What you did was wrong, but for whatever reason, this book is important to you, so I’m not going to take it away from you.”

She could no longer hold back; the girl started crying as she hugged the diary close to her. “Are- are you still mad at me? I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore.” her voice shook.

Her father looked at her with gentle eyes, which was an unfamiliar expression to Myka. “Oh, my girl,” he moved in to wrap his arms around her in a hug. “No. We're okay. I'm no mad anymore,” he rocked her twice before letting her go.

Myka nodded her head with a smile of relief. “Okay,” she sniffled

Warren then adjusted himself back into his normal stoic behaviour, as best as he could, while putting his glasses back on. “Why don’t you go put your stuff upstairs and then help me put all these books away?”

The girl beamed, “Okay! I’ll be right back,” she then bounced up the stairs, ecstatic that her father had forgiven her and was allowing her back into his life, starting with the bookstore.

Myka entered her bedroom; swinging off her backpack and dropping it on the floor at her desk. She then looked to her book in hand and kissed it gently, “thank you,” she smiled before laying it softly on her bed, then bounded out of the room as quickly as she had entered.

“Boldness be my friend,” Helena inscribed in the book on the second last page, before gently kissing it and laying it softly on Myka’s bed at Leena’s. She could do this. The Victorian took a deep breath. She could be bold and allow Myka to discover who her friend from the past truly was, or rather, who she is. HG turned to leave the room, even more nervous as she had been when she entered.


	14. Collision

It was another inventory day at the warehouse that was spent doing as much cataloguing as trying to redirect Pete to do his job. Myka admittedly had a fun day with her ADD partner and Claudia, who kept getting sucked into Pete’s shenanigans. All though, despite the pleasant time, the introverted agent was mentally exhausted by the day’s commotion, so much so, that she opted out of joining the team for burgers and shakes as the Univille diner after their shift. There was a novel and a piece of frozen cheese cake in the freezer that was calling her name back at the B&B.  
  
When The agent got home that evening, she first made her way upstairs to her room, wanting to slip into her lounging clothes before going to the kitchen. When she opened her door and entered her bedroom, she abruptly stopped to the sight of a familiar brown book on her bed. She cocked her head in confusion; stepping closer to it. Her old childhood diary, but why? she wondered. She had not seen that leatherbound cover in years. Myka had always brought her diary with her throughout her life; wherever she had settled and called home, it was there with her. It had always been lovingly enclosed in a small box, kept with her other favourite books. Despite her never opening the encased journal to re-read it, its presence in her life had been an absolute necessity.   
  
She crawled onto her bed, still in puzzlement.  It was odd, she didn’t feel as if the book was violated in anyway. Like if Pete or someone else unwelcomely had come into her room and read her secrets. The book felt sacred and protected just as she remembered it.  
  
Myka picked up the book, gently running her hand over its textured cover, then caressing the burned upped corner, with a tranquil smile on her face. She cracked open the diary and laid eyes on the words of her friend from the past. She then moved her gaze, skimming the pages to her younger selves writings. She glided her digits over the pages, feeling the indentations from the pen marks. She flipped a page, repeating the gesture. Then again, she turned the page, where her heart caught abruptly in her throat; there was another set of writing, a new unseen set. It was the same as her old diary friend’s... but it was also different. Her eyes then honed in on her own name. She read:  
  
  
 _I'm waiting for you in the future, as I hope that future-you is waiting for me in the present._  
  
 _Valedico my darling, Myka_  
  
  
Myka gawked. She knew. She just knew, all the way down to her bones. She knew. It was as if she had always known and this had merely been a reminder.  
  
Not that she needed the verification, her eyes skimmed back to the beginning of that same entry to read:  
  
  
 _July 28, 2012_  
  
 _Dear, my friend from the past, present and future (that's what you are. You are my dearest friend that has always been with me my whole life, the friend that I would be lost without.)_  
  
  
Myka pressed the palm of her hand to the entry, closing her eyes while exhaling in a low mummer, “Helena.”  
  
She breathed in deeply, fluttering open her eyes, before flipping through the pages, noting Helena’s new entries throughout the book. Here eyes had welled up so much that she could not really make out what the short notes squeezed in margins and between paragraphs had said. Just the sight of the blurred writings had brought a joy that she had never known. She made it to the last page with an entry written on it. Below it read, in all capital letters, ‘LIBRARY’, which the agent had no issue in making out through her welled up eyes.  
  
Myka clapped the book shut, hugging it to her chest as she made haste, jumping out of bed and hurrying down the stairs towards the indicated location. However, when she saw the open passageway to the library, her pace slowed. Equally scared and excited, She Gradually walked through the threshold to see Helena standing in the centre of the room, hands clasped in front of her, with a warm yet nervous smile.  
  
Though, once Myka’s eyes met Helena’s soft gaze, every superficial guarded emotion vanished. Even pride, the downfall of both of them, slipped away like water through fingers.  
  
“Myka,” the Victorian implored, eyes desperate.  
  
“Helena” the other woman practically cried out as she rushed to her. She wrapped her arm around the stationary woman in desperation, like she were drowning and Helena was her life-preserver. The Victorian was quick to mirror her actions, also wrapping an arm around her. Helena then slid her free hand between myka’s body and the book, that she still held to her chest, pulling them both closer in to her. The two then gently touched foreheads together while simultaneously shutting their eyes.  
  
The action of both their hands on the book triggered a flash image that was seen in their now combined consciousnesses. All of a sudden Myka, who was both young and an adult, placed a hand atop of young Helena’s grasp; pushing the intrusive spoon down; shaking her head disapprovingly in response to her actions in violating her cousin. Yet Myka’s eyes were filled with empathy, not anger. An empathy that was truly enigmatic. It was pure and hopeful which made Helena feel disgraceful while simultaneously comforted. That was the first time Helena could see the world through another’s eyes; completely untethered to her own experience.  
  
Then another image came to them. Little Myka sat at the edge of her bathtub, blood dripping down her leg. Helena, who was both young and an adult, knelt down behind her on the tile floor, wrapping her arms around her. “Breathe” the Victorian whispered, but not to the girl’s lungs, she spoke to her mind. Suddenly Myka felt clarity which brought both embarrassment and shame. Two unadulterated emotions that had the power to bring out her inner strength, allowing her to take charge. To end her cutting ritual which had always made her surrender in weakness.  
  
 _Flash_ , came another projection. Young Myka wept on her bed as she felt alone and hated by her father, wishing for a loving hug from her diary friend. Ageless-timeless Helena squeezed her tighter in both the past and the present.  
  
 _Flash_. Myka pretended to joust with her diary friend while practicing her fencing. With a grin young Helena picked up a foil and spared with her, they laughed gleefully together.  
  
 _Flash_. Young Helena sat on a white chair outside at her cousin's wedding. Past the bride and groom committing their vows, she smiled and waved at Myka who sat at her favourite tree at the park in Colorado Springs, which she could see thought the wedding party. Myka looked up from their diary; grinning and waving back. Which sent a ripple effect across time and space. The ripple then bounced off Helena’s hand and then moved towards the couple down the aisle, who were now no longer the bride and groom, but were Myka and Helena embracing each other in the library.  
  
The diary between them then burst into flames as they were abruptly standing in Yellowstone National Park; volcano erupting beneath their feet. Just as fast as the diary had spontaneously combusted, and the ground gave way; _Flash_ the red and orange flames were a safe distance away as they watched the great bonfire during the Guy Fawks day celebrations in London. Young Myka walked up to little Helena and put her arm around her shoulder as the two girls gazed imaginatively into the flames.  
  
 _Flash_. Young Helena stood on the staircase at Bering and Sons with adult Myka and Helena behind her. Little Myka came walking up to them; stopping and looking at the trio. It was Adult Myka who smiled at her younger self and said, “It’s okay, we got this,” she encouraged the girl to be honest and brave with their father. Young Myka nodded, biting back a grin before turning around to descend the stairs back towards her father with a newly found strength. Adult Myka turned back towards Helena _Flash_ everything went dark. Their Diary slipped between their combined grasp, dropping to their feet in the library.  
  
They opened their eyes and locked gazes for all of a brief moment, as their hands slowly worked their way up to the others face, which were both wet with tears that they had no recollection of shedding. Eyes closed as hearts pounded in chests. Myka gently tilted Helena’s chin up as her top lip gently met and slid between Helena’s warm and welcoming open mouth. Tenderly they sucked onto the other’s nourishing lips. Myka’s mouth then gently glided up to match Helena’s; teeth lightly clanging as the taller woman tilted her head a little deeper; touching her wet tongue inside Helena’s warmth. The Victorian then reached behind Myka’s head, pulling her in closer, meeting her tongue with her own. This was it. Each other's beginning and end.Their first and their last. Their souls finally together once again.  
  
After a long moment of heart wrenching affection, Myka peeled her lips away from the other woman’s. “Helena,” The agent’s eyes fluttered open to look at the Victorian. The other woman then opened her eyes too and met her gaze. “Promise me that you’ll never leave me again,” she sternly demanded through begging eyes.  
  
“I promise,” She answered so quickly that she almost overlapped Myka’s sentence. She then gently tucked a loose curl behind Myka’s ear. “I couldn’t even if I tried. You are my gravity.”  
  
Myka giggled, heart full of pure bliss, “I thought you hated that metaphor?”  
  
Helena chuckled back as if she were slightly offended, “Hey, it’s grown on me over the years, alright?”  
  
Myka bit back a laugh while grinning at her. “You took too long to get her.”  
  
“I know, and I’m sorry,” she responded with complete sincerity. Myka, with teasing eyes, then stepped away from the other woman, turning to the table next to the reading chair. She grabbed a pen and bent down to scoop up their journal off the floor. “What are you doing?” Helena asked, watching her flip open the book and put pen to paper.  
  
“Yelling at you,” said Myka, simply.  
  
“Wha--?”  
  
Myka flipped the book around as soon as she had finished writing so that the other woman could read her message. It was written in large lettering, that took up nearly half the page:  
  
  
 _Helena, hurry up already and come home!_  
  
  
“Bloody hell,” Helena muttered through a gaping mouth in remembrance of that very message. “Best artefact ever,” she smirked while snatching the book out of Myka’s hands, tossing it gently on the seat nearest them, as her other hand grabbed the agent’s shirt collar, pulling her in for another kiss. Myka giggled into her mouth, carelessly dropping the pen to the floor, as she wrapped her arms back around her best friend and true love from the past, present and future.


	15. Valedico

In Myka’s bedroom lay the curly haired agent, still adorned in her work clothing of that day; jeans and a pink button up blouse, tucked into Helena’s side. The other woman was too wearing her day attire, as she snuggled Myka; both atop of the bed's comforter. Each were somewhat propped up by pillows at the headboard, sound asleep with their diary loosely in Myka’s grip; Helena’s hand lazily resting on top of the book, where she too created contact with it. The diary had then started to spark as it distorted the light around it, as if the waves of energy were being sucked into a portal.

The two women stirred in their sleep, not as if they were being aroused by the book’s behaviour, but like their dreams were the culprit of their diary’s actions.

“So we meet again,” Mrs. Frederic spoke to the book as if she knew her presence would not awaken the two agents. She snapped a purple glove onto her right hand as she approached the active artefact. Carefully, she wiggled the book, which had a yellow post-it note tucked inside of it as a bookmark, and swiftly dropped the journal inside of a neutraliser bag that she had in her other hand. She didn’t bother hiding her face as the book contacted with the solution; making a bright spark of light shoot out from the pouch. The woman had gone through too much in her life to allow a neutraliser flash to bother her.

Nearly as quickly as the book had entered the bag, Mrs. Fredric had reached inside of it to take it out.  “Now be good, and don’t try and rip a hole in time and space again,” she said sternly to it, before placing it on the bed at her sleeping agents’ feet.

Myka groaned as she shifted slightly while cracking her heavy eyelids open. She had just been running across Tower Bridge with Helena, chasing her brother Charles, in a vivid dream. The three of them were children. Little Charles had stolen Helena’s Martian-Slaying Staff, where the young girl had quickly grabbed Myka’s hand, insisting that they catch him and make him pay for his thievery. Myka remembered laughter and a sense of freedom as they weaved between horse and buggy, yelling at the boy that they were speedily closing in on. Just as they were about to nab him, the agent awoke; not completely sure as to why though. She scanned the room, which was empty, before lazily settling her eyes on Helena who was fluttering her eyes open too.

“Damn, we almost had that little clotpole,” The Victorian murmured.

Too tired to fully comprehend the situation, Myka bent her head down to Helena’s; gently kissing the corner of her mouth. “Next time,” she smirked. “We're unstoppable together,” she barely got out before closing her eyes again. Helena then wrapped her arms around the other woman, pulling her in closer before too closing her eyes.

“Partners forever?” Helena asked softly into Myka’s neck.

Myka threaded her fingers into Helena’s raven hair as she pushed her cheek securely atop of the other woman’s head. “Forever,” she promised, before they both fell back into slumber while, hopefully, not causing a catastrophic artefact event, driven by their bond that had a habit of messing with the space time continuum.

 

_ December 11, 2016 _

_ To whoever is reading this now. I have left room for you to write whatever you wish at the end of all my entries. This story is not just mine, but is yours too. _

_ Love and valedico to you, my partner in fiction, _

_ Your fellow writer from the past _


End file.
